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. 

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MY CAPTIVE 


By J. A. ALTSHELER. 


My Captive. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 






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THE LIBRARY Of 
CONGRESS, 

Two CuP>IF:8 RECHIVEO 

MAY. 23 1902 


Copyright entry 

DI.AS8 A^XXa No. 

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COPY « 


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Copyright, 1902 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


All rights reserved 


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CHAPTER 

I. 

A Trying Situation . 



• 


PAGE 

I 

II. 

Keeping a Prisoner . 

• 


• 


13 

III. 

The Merit of a Good Horse 


• 


28 

IV. 

Supper and Song . 

. 


• 


46 

V. 

A Change of Front . 

. 

• 



58 

VI. 

In a State of Siege . 

. 

• 



78 

VII. 

The Temper of Old Put 

. 

• 



94 

VIII. 

Julia’s Revenge . 

. 

• 



115 

IX. 

Two AND A Horse 

. 

• 

• 


131 

X. 

Swords in the Twilight 

. 


• 


150 

XI. 

Harley Hall 

. 


• 


173 

XII. 

A Shadow at a Banquet 

. 




194 

XIII. 

A Vision of the Fire-Light 




211 

XIV. 

An Unexpected Friend 

. 




227 

XV. 

As Seen in a Dream . 

. 




242 

XVI. 

In Morgan's Camp 

. 


• 


257 

XVII. 

The Battle . 

. 


• 


266 

XVIII. 

Looking Ahead . 

, 


• 


280 



MY CAPTIVE 


CHAPTER I 

A TRYING SITUATION 

I LOOKED at the prisoner, and I was vexed 
by doubt. With a battle on one side of him 
and a woman on the other, what is a man to 
do? She returned my gaze with great, pure 
eyes, which seemed to say I was a villain, a 
monster; yet I had been doing my exact duty, 
that of a faithful soldier in the cause of the 
Continental Congress and freedom, while she 
— a woman, a girl — had presumed to turn 
from the things for which God intended her 
and to meddle with war. I was more than 
vexed — I was angry: angry at her for attempt- 
ing such a task, and angry at myself for being 
forced into a situation so full of troubles. 

On the right, in the fringe of woods a 


2 My Captive 

quarter of a mile away, the last rifle-shot had 
been fired, and its echo was speeding across 
the far hills. The powder flashed no more, and 
the smoke rose in lazy coils over the ground 
where men had fought and some had died. 
The victors, the captured detail with them, 
were riding away. I almost fancied I could 
hear the beat of their horses' hoofs, and 
the dead, I knew, lay with faces upturned 
to the sun, waiting there until the last trump 
should call them to rise again. And here was 
I, an atom, left in the drift of the armies, 
cut off from my comrades, and alone with 
this girl. 

The horses shifted about uneasily, stamped 
their feet, and once mine raised his head and 
neighed, as if in truth he heard the beating 
hoofs of the galloping detachment. He knew 
that his comrades too were leaving him, 
though I cannot call it a desertion intended 
by either horse or man. 

The girl's look of reproach turned to one 
of inquiry. She sat on a log, her little riding- 
whip hanging idly in her hand. For the first 
time I took note of her face — the delicate but 


3 


A Trying Situation 

firm moulding of each feature; the clear 
depths of her dark-blue eyes; the bronze gold 
of her hair, clustering in tiny curls around 
her forehead; the rose-red of her cheeks, like 
a flush; her lithe, strong young figure. Why 
is it that when God wishes to. make women 
especially wicked and troublesome he makes 
them beautiful? 

“ Well, you rebel,’' she said, “ when do 
you propose to set me free? ” 

“ When you give your word of honour that 
you will tell Cornwallis nothing about the 
strength of Morgan’s forces and our present 
movements.” 

That I will not do.” 

‘‘ Then you remain my prisoner.” 

Yet a fool were I even to have taken her 
word of honour. What woman has any re- 
gard for the truth in military matters? If she 
should find a chance, she would certainly 
give information likely to bring Cornwallis, 
as well as Tarleton, on Morgan. 

“ I think it enough for Englishmen them- 
selves to fight us without sending their daugh- 
ters too against us,” I said. 


4 


My Captive 

“ My father did not send me,” she said 
quickly; “ I came of my own accord.” 

‘‘ So much the worse,” I replied. 

But nothing was to be gained by standing 
there and talking. Besides, it is never well 
for a soldier to dispute with his prisoner. A 
captor should bear himself with dignity and 
reserve. I would show my quality. 

I untied the horses and led them to the log 
on which she was sitting. 

“ Get up! ” I said curtly and in a tone of 
command. 

The natural rose flush of her cheeks deep- 
ened a little. 

‘‘ You speak as if you were my master,” 
she said. 

‘‘ That is just what I am — for the pres- 
ent,” I replied. ‘‘ Mount your horse at 
once.” 

She gave me a sidewise look from eyes 
that flashed, but she stood upon the log. 

“ This log is too low, and the saddle is too 
high,” she said. 

I stepped forward and held out my hand 
to assist her. 


5 


A Trying Situation 

Don’t touch me, you rebel!” she cried, 
and leaped lightly into the saddle. 

I felt hurt. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t call me a rebel,” I 
said. 

Why? ” 

“ It’s impolite.” 

‘‘ But it’s true.” 

“ Well, perhaps it is in a way, and in a way 
too I am proud of it. Are you proud of your 
king?” 

Yes.” 

“ It doesn’t take much to arouse English 
pride.” 

“ You will think more of him when the 
war is over. It will pay you to do so.” 

Meanwhile we shall wait until then.” 

“ What do you purpose to do with me — 
keep me a prisoner? ” 

It is my misfortune.” 

“ The courtesy of a rebel.” 

I shall take you to General Morgan.” 

“ Then Tarleton will rescue me. Your 
Morgan cannot stand before him.” 

I was afraid that she spoke the truth. We 


4 


6 


My Captive 

were outnumbered, and, besides, more than 
half our force were raw militia. The odds 
were great against us, and knowing it, I did 
not reply to her taunt. 

While we were talking she sat in the sad- 
dle with the easy seat of a good horsewoman. 
I held my mount loosely by the bridle. She 
was twiddling the whip in her hands. Sud- 
denly she leaned over and lashed my horse 
across the eyes with her whip. The blow was 
given with all her might, and the startled ani- 
mal reared, jerked the bridle out of my hand, 
and ran away. 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Rebel! she shouted, and 
drawing her whip across her own horse gal- 
loped off in the opposite direction. 

I believe I swore. I was angry and 
alarmed too, for this girl, with her messages 
and accurate news about us, was a formidable 
enemy, escaped, who might cause the destruc- 
tion of the entire army of the south and the 
loss of all the southern colonies. I drew a 
pistol, it being my idea to kill the horse, but 
it was a shot that I could not risk. I thrust 
the weapon back in my pocket and ran after 


7 


A Trying Situation 

my horse. He was thirty or forty yards away, 
half-mad with rage and pain, his bridle swing- 
ing beside him. 

I am a very good runner, but I do not 
claim to be as swift as a horse. Nevertheless, I 
made speed as I ran after him, and I whistled 
and shouted with a vigour that must have con- 
vinced him of my intentions. I looked back 
once, and the girl and the horse she rode 
were growing smaller as they sped over the 
desolate and unfenced fields. My need of 
a horse too was growing more pressing. 
Mounted, there was hope; afoot, there was 
none. 

I whistled all the calls that a friendly and 
well-treated horse should know, and mean- 
time did not neglect to run after him with 
the best speed that I could command. Pres- 
ently he seemed to understand and to remem- 
ber that I was not responsible for the blow. 
He slackened his pace, looked back over his 
shoulder at me, and whinnied. I whistled en- 
couragingly, he whinnied again, and, remem- 
bering who I was, his best friend, came to a 
full stop, for he was a most intelligent ani- 


8 


My Captive 

mal. In half a minute I overtook him, leaped 
into the saddle, and turned his head about. 

Now, old horse,” I cried, you can gal- 
lop, but you gallop my way.” 

I wore my spurs, and I gave him a touch 
of the steel. That was enough, for he was 
always ambitious and proud of his speed, and 
away we flew over the fields after the disap- 
pearing girl. She was a full quarter of a mile 
ahead, and her figure was growing dim on 
the horizon. Another quarter of a mile and 
she would be in the woods, where the conceal- 
ment of the trees would enable her to elude 
my pursuit. Moreover, these English girls 
are often daring horsewomen, and even at 
the distance I could see that she rode like a 
trooper. But I knew the country and she did 
not, and I hoped to secure from it some chance 
that would enable me to overtake her. 

I encouraged my horse. I did more than 
encourage — I appealed to his pride and sense 
of gratitude. I reminded him how I had rid- 
den him all the way from the Hudson when 
I came south with Greene; how I had tended 
him and cared for him and fed him, often when 


9 


A Trying Situation 

I was compelled to go hungry myself. I ap- 
pealed to him now not to let that fugitive 
escape when so much depended on her cap- 
ture, when I should be eternally disgraced, 
and he with me, if we permitted ourselves to 
be tricked and outwitted at such a time by 
one red-cheeked English girl. 

He was a sensible animal, and he under- 
stood. He said nothing, not even a little 
snort, but his stride lengthened, and the swift 
and regular beat of his hoofs on the turf was 
music. 

“ Good horse. Old Put, good lad! I said. 
I had named him Put, after Old Put, the fa- 
mous Connecticut general, because he was so 
reliable and steady. He shook his ears slight- 
ly as a sign that he would do his best for 
me, having no time to say more, and ran a 
little faster. I kept a sharp watch for stones 
and holes in the ground, having no mind to 
risk a fall, which might ruin all, and nursed 
my comrade’s strength, for on land as well 
as sea a stern chase is a long one. 

The figure of the girl and the horse she 
rode was growing larger; good proof that I 


lo My Captive 

was gaining, which was not enough, however, 
for I might continue to do so, and yet she 
could elude me in the woods, unless I was 
close upon her when she reached them. Her 
long hair had fallen down and was streaming 
behind her like a ribbon of spray with the sun- 
shine on it, but I was willing to give that yel- 
low hair a jerk just then could I put my hands 
on it. 

‘‘ Steady, Put! ” I said to my faithful com- 
rade. Do you see that girl with the yellow 
hair? Yes? Well, note the horse that she is 
riding, a common troop-horse, clumsy, ill- 
bred, no pedigree. Are you going to let your- 
self be beaten by him? ” 

His ears wagged violently, and he ran a 
foot to the second faster. We struck a piece 
of beautiful turf, evidently an old field left to 
itself until it could recover its fertility, and 
with the soft grass deadening and easing his 
footfalls Old Put raced for life. I could al- 
most count the yards we gained, and still she 
was not in the forest. She did not look back 
until then, and it was a hasty glance, followed 
by a quick lashing of her mount. I judged 


II 


A Trying Situation 

that she too noticed the gain and would now 
be unmerciful to her horse. I was exultant, 
willing to boast of it, and I shared my feelings 
with Old Put. 

“ Notice that yellow-haired girl again, 
Put,’^ I said. “ When we catch her this time 
we shall take care that she does not serve us 
such a trick again. If we cannot trust an Eng- 
lishman, Put, how on earth can we put any 
faith in an English woman? ” 

Put received a slight slash once from the 
sabre of an Englishman who, offering to sur- 
render to me, had tried to back out of it, and 
he knew what I meant. For the first time he 
uttered a slight snort, called one new muscle 
into play, and we steadily shortened the dis- 
tance between us and the girl. 

She would have got into the wood a few 
moments later, but she abruptly reined in her 
horse, turned him half about, and galloped off 
to the left. I guessed the trouble at once. 
The heavy rains often wash great gullies in 
our South Carolina soil, and a kind Provi- 
dence, wishing to oblige me, had placed one 
of these in her way. It was equal to a gain of 


12 


My Captive 

two hundred feet without an effort, and I 
turned Old Put at once into the course she 
was taking. 

Don’t you see, Put,” I said, that the 
Lord is on our side, and she and that burnt- 
brown cob of hers, who has passed most of 
his life hitched to a sutler’s wagon, will be de- 
livered into our hands? ” 

Old Put fairly neighed, his first real ex- 
pression of triumph. He was as sure of the 
victory now as I, and I had confidence in the 
judgment of my old comrade. 

‘‘ Stop! stop! ” I shouted to the girl. “ If 
you don’t stop, I’ll shoot! ” 

I had a long-barrelled horse-pistol, which 
I drew and flourished magnificently. I was 
within hearing though not shooting range, and 
I trusted that I should be able to frighten her 
into yielding. 

She did not stop. She had worn her 
whip into shreds, and thin red streams of 
blood zigzagged across the horse’s sides, but 
she pounded on with the stump. I felt a genu- 
ine pity for her horse, hack though he was, 
but none for her. 


CHAPTER II 


KEEPING A PRISONER 

No more gullies thrust themselves across 
the way, and the girl was within twenty feet 
of the wood. She took another hurried look 
at me, and seeing my rapid gain, alarm ap- 
peared on her face. She drew a little toy pis-, 
tol from the cloak she wore and levelled it at 
me, or at least that seemed to be her inten- 
tion. I call it a toy pistol, because I, a full- 
grown soldier, would have felt deep shame had 
I been caught with such a weapon in my pos- 
session. She pulled the trigger, and the bullet 
cut the uncomplaining air somewhere, but not 
in my neighbourhood. This bombardment 
cost her at least twenty feet of the distance 
between us, but she thrust the terrible weapon 
back in her cloak and galloped on, with Old 
Put thundering at her heels. Then she was 
into the wood, and I was not far behind, 

13 


14 


My Captive 

shouting to her to stop, telling her that I 
would surely overtake her and she was merely 
wasting the breath of both our horses and 
our own. Still she paid no heed, guiding her 
horse between the trees and through the 
bushes with considerable skill. 

But, seeing the wood thicken presently, I 
was tempted to laugh. It was obvious now 
that the end of the race had come and I was 
the winner. The forest became so dense, the 
bushes clustering in thickets and the vines in- 
terlacing from tree to tree, that it formed 
an impenetrable wall. What I had feared 
would help her was my best ally. 

She stopped short and sat stiffly on her 
horse, her back turned to me. I wondered if 
she would draw that amazing pistol again and 
threaten me with it, but she made no such 
attempt, evidently having reached wisdom 
at last. She dropped the stump of her switch 
on the ground and kept the back of her head 
towards me. Some beams of sunshine came 
through the tall trees and gleamed across the 
long curls of tawny gold, tingeing them for 
the moment as if with fire. 


Keeping a Prisoner 15 

I rode up by her side, and then, as she 
seemed to ignore me, I asked Old Put to take 
me around in front of her. There I could see 
her face. It was pale, sad, and reproachful, 
and a tear ran down either cheek. For the 
moment I felt a little pity despite her perverse 
nature and all the trouble she had given me. 

“ I am sorry I have to do this,” I said. 

Sorry for what? ” she asked. 

I saw that I had made a mistake. One 
should always be polite to a woman, but never 
apologetic. 

“ That I had to overtake you,” I replied. 

Yours is the better horse,” she said, wip- 
ing away the tears with an angry little brush 
of the hand. “ I like to ride, and I always en- 
joy a good race. That was the reason I chal- 
lenged you to it, though I did not know you 
had such a good mount.” 

This was a new view of the case, but I had 
a thought, or, rather, a reflection. 

‘‘ It was a good race,” I said, “ but wasn’t 
that a false start? ” 

How so? ” 

Didn’t you take an advantage? ” 


1 6 My Captive 

“ I was entitled to it. I am a woman.’' 

So women expect to carry that rule even 
into warfare? ” 

Certainly.” 

I was glad I had never been forced to 
wage war with one of the feminine sex be- 
fore, and hoped never to meet the necessity 
again. One likes to stick to the rules in mili- 
tary matters, and then he has some idea what 
to expect. 

“ The horses are very tired,” I said. 

‘‘ They look like it,” she replied. 

The poor animals were panting, and their 
coats were damp. I took the reins of her 
horse from her hand and held them firmly in 
mine. 

What are you going to do? ” she asked. 

‘‘ I think I’d better hold the bridles of 
both,” I said. “ Will you please dismount? ” 

I set her a good example by jumping down 
myself. She could not say that the prisoner 
was compelled to walk while the captor rode. 
I stepped forward to assist her, but again she 
refused my help, and sprang to the ground 
unassisted. 


Keeping a Prisoner 17 

Old Put gazed angrily at the girl who had 
struck him. Then he snorted with triumph 
and looked contemptuously at the other horse. 
The latter seemed to be ashamed of himself, 
and his attitude was apologetic. But he had 
done his best, and therefore should not have 
been blamed. 

Come,” I said, “ we will get out of this 
wood and walk back across the fields. Keep 
by my side. I shall watch you; I do not want 
any more treachery.” 

I spoke with great sternness, as the mite 
of pity I felt when I saw the tears was gone. 
She obeyed with surprising meekness and 
walked beside me, while I led the horses, hold- 
ing both bridles in one hand. I was glad that 
I had been so sharp with her, and I saw now 
it was the proper way with rebellious women. 
A man has only to show towards them a stern, 
unyielding temper, and they submit at once. 
She was crushed, and again that mite of pity 
rose up in my breast, for nearly always we feel 
a trace of sympathy for those whom we have 
vanquished. 

Her head drooped, there was a faint ap- 


1 8 My Captive 

peal in her eyes, and her walk showed weari- 
ness. She seemed to have forgotten that her 
hair was loose down her back, as she let it 
hang in long curls of gold, burnished where 
the sunshine fell upon it, dark in the shadow. 

The yellow of the sun was deepening into 
red, a sign that the afternoon was waning, and 
I was anxious about the future, for which, like 
a good soldier, I felt it my duty to provide. 
She must have seen the care in my face, for 
she asked: 

‘‘ Are you thinking how we shall reach 
General Morgan? ” 

“ General Morgan or some one else.’" 

Is it far to his camp? ” 

“ I cannot say. I do not know where he 
is. The American camp just now is of a shift- 
ing character.’’ 

“ To keep out of Tarleton’s way, I sup- 
pose? ” 

“ Either that or to find him.” 

Then she seemed to repent of her gibe at 
our running away from the British. 

But General Morgan is a brave man, I 
have heard,” she said. 


Keeping a Prisoner 19 

That warmed my heart. 

He is a brave man,” I replied, and, 
what is more, he is a fine soldier and general.” 

‘‘ What a pity he is not on the right side! ” 

Let's not quarrel about that again.” 

I thought I could afford to be generous, 
my situation was so superior to hers. 

After that we walked along in silence for 
several minutes. The red tint of the sun deep- 
ened; faint shadows appeared in the blue vel- 
vet of the sky. 

I want to ask you one question,” she said 
presently. 

“ There is nothing to prevent your ask- 
ing it.” 

But I want an answer, direct and cor- 
rect.” 

If it does not interfere with the progress 
of the campaign.” 

I don't think it will do that.” 

What is it? ” 

‘‘ What is your name? ” 

I laughed. It had never occurred to me 
before to tell her. 

‘‘ It is true,” I said, that we have not had 


20 My Captive 

an introduction, though we are seeing a good 
deal of each other’s society, but it is not too 
late. My name is Philip Marcel.” 

“ Why, that sounds like French, and I 
thought you were an American.” 

“ Both are true. I am an American, and 
the name Marcel used to be French. I am of 
French descent partly, and I may have British 
blood too, though I shall not boast of it. 
There are many of us in South Carolina.” 

‘‘ But I thought you were Northern. You 
said you had been serving in the Northern 

army of the rebels ” 

The patriots! ” 

‘‘ Well, the patriots, then, under Mr. 
Washington.” 

General Washington! ” 

Well, General Washington.” 

“ Yes, I have been serving in the Northern 
army of the patriots under General Washing- 
ton, but he has sent me south with General 
Greene and the others, mostly Southerners 
themselves, to redeem this part of the country 
from the British raiders. I am a South Caro- 
linian.” 


Keeping a Prisoner 21 

She relapsed into silence again, and I imi- 
tated her example. I had enough of impor- 
tance anyhow to think about without talking 
to a girl, an enemy, but presently I remem- 
bered. 

“ Pardon me,’' I said, “ but you have for- 
gotten something too.” 

What is it?” 

“ You have not told me your name.” 

“ That is true, and the introduction cannot 
be complete until I do.” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ My name is Howard.” 

Howard! What Howard? ” 

“ Julia Howard. My father is John Sin- 
clair Howard, major in Tarleton’s legion. I 
was born in Devonshire, England, and I am 
here with my father, having nobody else to 
look after me, until such time as these rebel- 
lious colonies are put down and restored in 
their allegiance to their lawful sovereign, 
George HI, King of England, Scotland, 
Wales, and Ireland, God bless him!” 

I thought that God could find something 
better to do than to waste his time blessing 


22 


My Captive 

King George, a fat German blockhead, but I 
kept the thought to myself just then. 

Then, mark my words. Miss Julia How- 
ard, of Devonshire, England,” I said, “ you 
have come here to stay.” 

“ I don^t believe it.” 

It is a prediction; it will come true.” 

Her look was full of unbelief, and we re- 
lapsed into silence again. The shadows grew 
in the sky. The sun blazed like fire, and my 
old trouble about the future came back. 

The horses ceased to pant and walked now 
with springy steps, their weariness gone. Old 
Put thrust his nose under my arm and whin- 
nied gently. He was talking in the language 
that we two understood. I rubbed his soft 
nose. 

“ Yes, old fellow,” I said to him, you 
have done your duty well, as you always do. 
We’ll stop soon, and then I’ll find you some- 
thing to eat.” 

He whinnied again and rubbed his nose on 
my sleeve; he understood. 

“ He looks like a good horse,” said the 


girl. 


Keeping a Prisoner 23 

“ Never a better,” I replied, and with em- 
phasis. 

“ I like a good horse,” she said. 

“ So do I. That’s the reason I’m so fond 
of Old Put.” 

'' I wonder if he would be as friendly with 
me?” 

I don’t know. He usually likes old 
friends best, but still he is a horse of fine 
taste.” 

Her evident admiration of Old Put ap- 
pealed to me, and I thought I would give 
her the little compliment. Women like such 
things, and, again, I felt as if I could afford 
to be generous. 

She put her hand upon his nose and 
stroked it gently. It was a white, well-shaped 
hand, with pretty, tapering fingers. Old Put 
must have admired it. He assisted in the 
rubbing task, swaying his nose gently to and 
fro, and he whinnied once, softly, after his cus- 
tom when he was talking to me. He seemed 
to have forgotten the blow she had given him. 

“ See,” she said triumphantly, he has 
found a new friend, a good friend, and he 


24 


My Captive 

knows it. He is almost as fond of me as he 
is of you.” ; 

I was surprised, greatly surprised. Here- 
tofore Old Put had always proVed himself to 
be an excellent judge of character, and now he 
was putting his trust in this E|iglish girl, who 
had shown herself to be unworthy of any con- 
fidence whatever. Poor Put! Another mas- 
culine dupe! He was growing old; he was 
falling into his dotage. I felt a certain sad- 
ness at these signs of mental decay in my faith- 
ful horse. But they marched on, his silky 
nose pressed closely against her arm, and 
meanwhile the sun was sinking and the shad- 
ows were deepening and lengthening. 

I do not think it necessary for us to walk 
any more,” I said. The horses are now thor- 
oughly rested from their race and are willing 
to do their part, which is to carry us.” 

She looked at her ugly brown hack in 
some dismay. 

“ He’s such a rough traveller, I believe I’d 
rather continue walking,” she said. 

He certainly had a most irregular, jump- 
ing kind of gait, which would make him an 


Keeping a Prisoner 25 

unpleasant mount for anybody, but there 
seemed to be no recourse. Horses were not 
running loose around us for me to catch. 

‘‘ But we can’t help it,” I said. We can 
ride slowly. If he misbehaves, use that switch 
you have picked up.” 

She walked steadily on. 

Now, if he were like this one,” she said, 
stroking Old Put’s nose, “ I should be glad to 
ride again.” 

Suppose I change the saddles, then,” I 
said, “ and let you ride Old Put? ” 

It was a great concession for me to make, 
but her appreciation of my horse touched me 
for the moment. 

Do you think he would let me? ” she said, 
looking at Old Put doubtfully and timidly. 

Now I was indignant. It was a slur upon 
the character of Put, one of the gentlest and 
best bred of horses, to insinuate that he would 
behave badly with a lady on his back. 

''No man except myself has ridden him in 
years,” I replied. " Perhaps no woman has 
ever ridden him at all, but that is no reason 
why one should not ride him now.” 


26 


My Captive 

‘‘ But I am afraid,” she protested again in 
timid fashion. All her courage seemed to 
have gone. Again I say you have only to be 
stern with a woman to keep her at your feet. 

‘‘Nonsense!” I said a little roughly. 
“ We’ll stop talking about this and do it at 
once.” 

I halted the horses and changed the sad- 
dles, while she looked doubtfully on. Old 
Put submitted like an angel, and I drew the 
girth tight. Then I continued: 

“ Now, if you would know what a real sad- 
dle-horse is. Miss Howard, just jump up 
there.” 

“ Will you help me? ” 

Another proof of her subdued condition! 

I held out my hand in most gallant fashion. 
She leaned on it a moment for support, and 
sprang into the saddle. Then, giving Old 
Put a cut with the switch which she had picked 
up, she galloped away. 

“Good-bye, Mr. Marcel!” she shouted. 
“ I ride the better horse now.” 

She turned Old Put’s nose to the south- 
west, and away she went at the very best speed 


Keeping a Prisoner 27 

of which my good horse was capable, and 
that was much. Her yellow hair flew in the 
wind, as before, like the streamers of a defiant 
battle-flag, and either with or without intent 
the red cap she wore was set rakishly and sau- 
cily on one side of her head. 


3 


CHAPTER III 


THE MERIT OF A GOOD HORSE 

I PAUSED, not to swear this time, but for 
a momentary reflection on the vanity of man 
and the deceitfulness of woman in taking ad- 
vantage of it, and then I sprang upon the back 
of that old brown hack — confound him for 
an army mule without the ears! — and gave 
chase. I had no switch or whip, but I rowelled 
him and kicked him in the sides until I fright- 
ened him into a greater speed than he or any 
one else believed to dwell within his long 
frame. He gave a wild snort, and we plunged 
after the fleet girl, rocking and swaying like 
a boat in a stormy sea, but even with such 
exertion he could not compare with Old Put. 
Despite the anxiety of the moment, I noted 
his inferiority with some pride, but then I re- 
membered how much depended upon the suc- 
cess of the pursuit, and continued to urge on 
my own mount. 


The Merit of a Good Horse 29 

Strive and strain as we could and ride and 
thump as I would with all my arms and legs, 
we lost ground rapidly. The girl turned her 
head once to look at me, and I thought I saw 
a look of triumph on her face, but I suppose 
it was my imagination, which was industrious- 
ly tormenting me just then. I groaned at the 
certainty of her escape, and then hope seized 
me, for I remembered suddenly that I too had 
a trick to play. Old Put and I possessed a 
common language in which we often talked 
with perfect understanding. I put two fingers 
to my lips and blew between them a long, shrill 
whistle, that cut the air and travelled like the 
scream of a fife. It was a request, a command 
even, to him to stop and wait for me. He 
twisted his long neck in the manner of one 
listening, looking back at me to see what I 
meant, but he went on, though with slightly 
diminished speed, his manner indicating that 
he was uncertain what I had said. 

The girl was belabouring him with the 
switch, which showed that she had noticed 
his decreasing gait. I whistled again, and as 
Old Put’s pace sank to a trot she beat him 


30 


My Captive 

furiously. A third whistle, and Old Put, now 
in perfect accord with me, stopped stock still; 
not only that, but he faced about and neighed 
joyously. The girl threw the remains of her 
switch upon the ground and began to cry, 
not pitifully, but angrily, fiercely. I rode up 
slowly and held out my hand to Old Put, who 
rubbed his nose against it. Pie knew his 
master and best friend. Never had I beaten 
him, and now there were stripes and welts on 
his side where she had pounded him. 

‘‘ Why did you not tell me what sort of a 
horse he was,’’ she cried, “ and then I would 
not have made myself look so ridiculous, sit- 
ting here as if I had been tied and waiting for 
you to come up? ” 

“ Miss Howard,” I replied in some aston- 
ishment, “ do you expect me to show you the 
way to escape? ” 

“ I do not expect anything from you, a 
rebel,” she said. Do not speak to me 
again.” 

All right; that suited me. I did not wish 
to talk to her. She used words only to in- 
veigle me into some incautious mood. But 


The Merit of a Good Horse 31 


it was necessary for me to tell her to dis- 
mount in order that I might change saddles 
again, as I did not intend to give her another 
such chance. I did not offer to assist her, 
having had enough of that, but stood be- 
side the brown hack, watching her with a look 
that was now strictly military. 

Why don^t you help me down? ’’ she said 
angrily. Have you no courtesy for a lady? '' 

“ You have declined such assistance from 
a rebel before,’’ I replied to her unexpected 
question. 

‘‘And I decline again. You needn’t offer 
it,” she said abruptly, springing to the ground, 
when I had no thought of offering help. 

As soon as she was off his back Old Put 
showed the greatest distrust of her and aver- 
sion. He shied as far away from her as my 
hold on his bridle would let him, and his big, 
dark eyes shone with wrath. I was glad that 
he had come back to his senses, and he, like I, 
should have known her thoroughly from the 
first and always. 

“We don’t intend to be deceived by her 
again, do we, old comrade? ” said I to him. 


32 


My Captive 

He nodded his head in emphatic fashion, 
and his big eye winked intelligently. Her 
face flushed a little, but she took no other 
notice. 

Look well at this lady, Put,” I said. 
‘‘ Do you note her? ” 

He nodded. 

“ She's English, we're Americans, and 
therefore she's an enemy and not to be trusted. 
Watch her well,'' I continued. 

He nodded violently. 

“ Now, Miss Howard,'' I said severely, 
“ I've changed those saddles, and they are 
ready for our use when we need them, but 
meanwhile we'll walk again, as we've tired our 
horses out for the second time, and all your 
fault too.” 

She said nothing, but walked on in the 
way which I had indicated, keeping eight or 
ten feet from me. She ceased to cry and gave 
her features a fixed and angry set. 

I was troubled greatly. We had wasted so 
much time over her futile efforts to escape 
that the problem of a night's shelter grew 
more difficult and pressing, and I intended that 


The Merit of a Good Horse 33 

my attention should not be diverted from it 
again. Therefore I would take precautions. 
I drew from my pocket a long silk handker- 
chief, a trophy of the Monmouth campaign, 
which I had preserved with great care. 

“ Hold out your hands,” I said. 

“ What would you do? ” she asked, turn- 
ing upon me a look of fire. 

But I was firm. My experience was too 
great. 

“ Hold out your hands,” I repeated. “ I 
intend to bind them together. You play too 
many tricks.” 

“ You are not a gentleman.” 

“ You have told me that three or four 
times already. It won’t bear further repeti- 
tion.” 

I will not submit to such a thing.” 

“ Then I will have to use force, which will 
make it much more unpleasant for you.” 

I hated to do what I had planned. It was 
rude and severe, but then there are few who 
have had women prisoners like mine, and con- 
sequently there are few who are in a position 
to judge me. I prefer greatly to deal with 


34 


My Captive 

the regular forces, but in this case I had no 
choice, and so I strengthened my will and pro- 
ceeded. 

“ Hold out your wrists,” I repeated. “ I 
shall not hurt you. I merely wish to keep you 
out of further mischief.” 

“ I shall never forgive you,” she said. 

I could afford to laugh at such a threat. 

I trust that nobody will forgive me un- 
til I ask it,” I replied. 

She looked at me, her eyes full of rebel- 
lion. I thought she was going to raise her 
hand to strike me, but women are so change- 
able and uncertain. Instead she held out her 
hands meekly. 

I bound her wrists together and noticed 
that they were white and well moulded. The 
handkerchief was soft and could not pain her 
at all, and, besides, her hands were secured in 
front of her and not behind her. She need feel 
no inconvenience, but she must realize that 
her opportunities for mischief were diminished 
vastly. Old Put looked at her with an air 
of triumph, as much as to say, “ Now, miss, 
you are being punished, and punished deserv- 


The Merit of a Good Horse 35 


edly, for beating me so much.” That seemed 
to be her own understanding of herself. 

We resumed our march, the horses walk- 
ing behind us. The rim of the sun was now 
meeting the rim of the earth, and the western 
skies were tinged with ruddy fire. In the east 
the misty gray of twilight was descending on 
field and forest, and the chill of night was 
creeping over everything. Even in our South 
Carolina latitudes the nights are cold in mid- 
winter, and I shivered as a twilight wind, with 
a raw edge to it, swept over the plain. 

There was a heavy cloak hanging at her 
saddle-horn, as she had not ventured upon her 
journey unprepared. I took it off and threw 
it over her shoulders. It fell below her waist 
like a greatcoat, and I buttoned it securely 
around her neck. 

“ You are a barbarian,” she said. 

‘‘ I know it,” I replied, “ but I do not in- 
tend to let you suffer more than is necessary 
for your own good. That is the kind of bar- 
barians we are in this country.” 

The land was lone and desolate, for we 
were on the sterile slopes of the hills. It was 


36 My Captive 

thinly peopled at the best of times, but now, 
raided incessantly by Tarleton’s legion, which 
knew no mercy to anything, whether animate 
or inanimate, and plundered too by wild bands 
which claimed to belong to either army as 
the occasion served, and perhaps belonged 
to neither, the people had fled to securer 
regions, where one side or the other was 
master. Only those who have seen it know 
the sufferings of a country harried by op- 
posing armies and predatory forces. I had 
hoped to find some friendly farmer bolder than 
the rest with whom my prisoner and I could 
obtain shelter, or if not that, at least an aban- 
doned house which would give us a roof, but 
I saw no sign of a human face except our own, 
and no roof appeared either in the fields or 
among the trees. It was a solitude bleak and 
cold, and the declining sun, now half-way be- 
hind the earth, warned me that it would soon 
be time to stop. The darkness would be upon 
us, and in a land of hills, gullies, and no roads 
we could not travel well without light. 

Despairing of such shelter as I had ex- 
pected, I turned our course towards a thick 


The Merit of a Good Horse 37 

grove of trees rising like a great castle on the 
left. When we entered it, the shadows already 
made darkness there, and the night wind 
moaned among the dry branches of the trees. 
I saw the girl shiver, and again I felt pity for 
her in spite of all that she had tried to do, 
though I lost none of my distrust and caution. 

Almost in the centre of the grove was a 
small open space, sheltered from the rush of 
cold air by the great trees which grew so 
thickly around it. It seemed to me the like- 
liest spot we could find for a camp. I hitched 
the horses to boughs and took from my pocket 
a small flask of that cheer which a good sol- 
dier seldom neglects. I drew the stopper and 
handed it to the girl. 

“ Drink a little of this,’' I said. “ You 
must if you do not expect to catch your death 
of cold.” 

‘‘ I would if I could,” she replied, “ but 
I cannot while my hands are tied.” 

“ I had forgotten the handkerchief,” I 
continued, “ but I don’t think we’ll need it 
any longer. You have been warned suffi- 
ciently.” 


38 


My Captive 

I unbound her wrists and replaced the 
handkerchief in my pocket. 

“ But don’t forget,” I said, ‘‘ that this 
handkerchief is an evidence that I have put 
my mark upon you and that you belong to 
me — that is, you are my prisoner until I 
choose to give you up.” 

Her face flushed. 

“ I will not endure such talk,” she replied, 
^ from a rebel who within six months may 
be hanged by his outraged king for treason.” 

“ You can’t escape it,” I said, ‘‘ and the 
king can’t hang me before he catches me. 
It’s a long way from London to South Caro- 
lina, and I hear the king is fat and lazy and 
suffers from seasickness.” 

But she drank the whisky, just a little 
of it, though enough to put more sparkle in 
her eye, and handed the flask to me without 
a word of thanks. Then she sat down on a 
fallen tree and looked idly in front of her, as 
if she had no interest whatever in anything. 

I gathered up armfuls of the dry brush 
and tossed them into a heap, which I ignited 
with the flint and steel I always carried. The 


The Merit of a Good Horse 39 


fire blazed up rapidly and snapped as it bit 
through the wood. Its merry crackling 
drowned the desolate moan of the wind, and 
the long red ribbons of flame and the fast- 
forming bed of live coals threw out a kindly 
heat that fended off the chill of the night. 
Even the girl, angry and humiliated as she 
seemed to be, felt the influence of the light 
and warmth, and edged along the log until 
she was much closer and the fire could shine 
directly upon her face. Old Put was frank in 
his appreciation, coming to the full length of 
his tether and wagging his head in a manner 
that said to me as plain as day, “ You have 
done well.” Even the stupid brown hack un- 
derstood and imitated Old Put’s example. 

Higher rose the fire and drove back the 
shadows, but the darkness was now rolling up 
to the circle of light, and, beyond the sparkle 
of the flames, began to rise like a wall. The 
sun was gone, and a faint, fading pink tint 
in the west marked the way his flight took 
him. Over all the world the twilight 
drooped, and the winter wind mourned the 
dead day. 


40 My Captive 

‘‘ Are there ghosts in the forest? sud- 
denly asked the girl. 

'' None that I ever heard of/' I said. 

“ It is so unlike England." 

How? ” 

'' So much wilder." 

I had heard of their forests there, or rather 
what they call forests — some acres of trees, 
with the undergrowth cut away and the lawns 
shaven, every rod patrolled by keepers or 
workmen, a mere plaything of a forest — but 
here in America are the real forests, just as 
nature made them, the desolate wilderness 
through which the wild animals howl, while 
the lone wind plays its song on the branches 
or leaves of the trees. This is the real forest, 
a place in which man becomes about as big 
as a cork on the sea. Never the lone hunter, 
though fifty years his home, fails to feel its 
immensity and desolation. The girl drew the 
edges of her cloak a little more tightly and 
moved as close to the fire as the end of the 
log would allow her. 

If you will permit me," I said, “ I will 
give you a better seat than that by the fire." 


The Merit of a Good Horse 41 


She rose without a word, and I rolled the 
log well within the warmth of the blaze. She 
resumed her seat, and the firelight flickered 
and played over her face, tinting her cheeks 
with deep red and spangling her bronze-gold 
hair with patches of scarlet and crimson. The 
little red cap had been pulled securely down 
on her head, and, sitting there in the alternate 
light and darkness, her figure lithe and strong, 
she looked like some Saxon wood-nymph. 

But I did not cease my good deeds. I call 
myself a forethoughtful trooper, and from the 
saddle-bags I carried across my saddle-bow I 
took a cold chicken, a piece of cold boiled 
ham, and some hard biscuits, a dinner fit for 
a prince, or rather an honest American citi- 
zen, which was better, in these hard times of 
war. To this royal collation I added a can- 
teen well filled with water, remembered the 
stout little flask in my breast-pocket, and the 
repast was complete, all but the serving. 

Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the good 
things. Wood-nymphs, Saxon or other, must 
eat. 

'' Let me carve the chicken,” she said. 


42 My Captive 

“ You have neither a table, plates, nor a 
knife,” I replied. 

“ This log will serve as a table, some of 
those clean dry leaves as plates, and you can 
lend me a knife.” 

‘‘ How could I lend you a knife, a weapon, 
after all the tricks you have tried to play upon 
me? You don’t forget this, do you? ” 

I took the little toy pistol with which she 
had tried to shoot me out of my pocket and 
held it up before her, but she laughed. Wom- 
en don’t seem to have any conscience, or at 
least they forget their crimes, which is con- 
venient for their peace of mind. 

Give me the knife,” she said, and don’t 
waste time. I’m hungry.” 

I distrusted her as much as ever, even 
more, but I opened the blade of my clasp-knife 
and handed it to her. 

“ A very good knife,” she said, but I 
have no doubt it was stolen from an English- 
man. Ah, here it is — the name of an Eng- 
lish maker on the blade! ” 

'‘It was not stolen!” I exclaimed indig- 
nantly. " I took it from him fairly at the 


The Merit of a Good Horse 43 

battle of Monmouth, where he fell into my 
hands/’ 

That, I suppose, is a good enough title 
for a rebel,” she said, and began to carve the 
chicken. 

It was a fine, fat chicken, beautifully 
roasted, and she showed that she knew how 
to carve, for she deftly clipped off a leg, which 
she held up before me. 

That looks fat and good to eat,” she 
said, and it’s a fine chicken, but I’ve no 
doubt it was stolen from a loyal subject of 
King George.” 

'‘It’s not true!” I exclaimed in some 
wrath. “ He was a Tory farmer, I admit, but 
I did not steal the chicken. I took it before 
his eyes, and he never said a word.” 

“Afraid, I suppose; but it doesn’t make 
any difference to you. It will taste just as 
good to a rebel. Here, take your piece on 
this big, clean leaf, and eat.” 

I obeyed. She carved off a portion for 
herself too, and ate with a good appetite. 
Then I handed her the canteen of water and 
told her to drink. 


4 


44 My Captive 

'' Don't be afraid,” I said. '' I took that 
water out of a clear brook in the wilderness, 
and the land through which it flowed belonged 
to God, not to any Englishman or Tory.” 

But how about the canteen? ” she asked. 
“ Did you steal that from any English soldier 
or take it by violence, which is worse? ” 

I showed her the name of the maker, a 
Boston man, upon it. 

A vile rebel town, the worst of them 
all,” she said. 

But she took a good drink from it, and 
when she handed it back to me I imitated 
her example. Then, as the fire crackled 
and blazed higher and the circle of light wi- 
dened and the darkness beyond it thickened, 
we ate and drank, and I grew cheerful. 

I had defeated every one of her attempts, 
and to-morrow I would find Morgan, give her 
into other hands and be rid of all my troubles; 
yet I was compelled to admit once again that 
she was very beautiful with the firelight flick- 
ering and playing over her face and hair, but 
all the world knows, as I have said, that the 
handsome women are the most dangerous. 


The Merit of a Good Horse 45 


the most cunning, and I was on my guard 
against any new attempt of hers to escape. 
Still, when I looked around at the blackness 
of the night and heard the sigh of the cold 
wind above the crackling of the fire, I did not 
think that she would dare to attempt it. I 
knew no woman would venture alone on a 
winter night into that uncanny wilderness, 
and, knowing it, I felt easy. 


CHAPTER IV 


SUPPER AND SONG 

The horses looked jealously at our sup- 
per. I was sorry for them, especially Old Put, 
whose great, intelligent eyes said in the pur- 
est English, I too am hungry, master.” But 
I could do nothing. I had no provender for 
horses, and so I told him to wait as best he 
could until morning, and I would find him 
something, if I had to rob a patriot farmer to 
do it. He bowed his head in resignation like 
the wise horse he was, while the brown hack, 
not so well bred, tugged at his bridle-rein and 
thrashed about until I threatened him with 
a big stick. 

After the chicken the girl served the cold 
ham and drank from the canteen again. I 
did likewise. Moreover, I urged her to wet 
her lips at the flask a second time as a further 
precaution against cold, which she did liter- 
ally and no more. I was liberal rather than 
46 


47 


Supper and Song 

literal, as I was a soldier and knew its value. 
I took my blanket from my saddle-bow and 
urged her to wrap it around herself, but she 
said No that her heavy cloak was suf- 
ficient, and she would not deprive me, even 
if I was a misguided rebel. I saw that she 
spoke truly, as her cloak was of the most am- 
ple character, and so, having no further com- 
punction, I wrapped the blanket around me, 
Indian style, and, sitting down on the dry 
leaves in front of the fire, leaned my head 
against the log. She sat on the log at the 
other end, her head resting against a dead 
bough thrust straight up in the air. I had 
put the remains of the provisions back in my 
saddle-bags. 

Triumphant, warm, well fed, my cheerful- 
ness, my satisfaction with myself, increased. 
I stared into the bed of red coals and saw 
figures, pictures, there. Near the centre of 
the bed the coals fell into such shape that I 
could trace distinctly the epaulets of a gen- 
eral, and I knew those epaulets were for 
me. The coals crumbled into new shapes and 
built the house which was to be mine when 


48 


My Captive 

the war was victoriously over and I was ready 
to retire to it with my honours. She too 
seemed to be engaged in the same business, 
for she was staring with half-closed eyes into 
the dreamy coals. 

“ Why are you a rebel? ” she asked. “ Is 
it from pure perverseness? They say all you 
Americans are so.’^ 

‘‘ They tell many things about us in Eng- 
land that are not true,” I replied, “ and this 
is one of them. The English themselves have 
often been rebels, and their present royal fam- 
ily, one of the worst they have ever had — 
and they have had the Stuarts — was placed 
on the throne by a just rebellion.” 

‘‘ You must know,” she replied, that in 
England the character of the sovereign is 
nothing. It is the sovereign principle. The 
worse the sovereign, the better the court likes 
him.” 

We relapsed into silence and our study of 
the red coals. Old Put whinnied gently, 
raised his head, and gazed beyond the fire, as 
if he saw something in the darkness impene- 
trable to all but horse eyes. 


49 


Supper and Song 

I’d better look to that,” I said. Old 
Put is not going to give a warning for noth- 
ing. He has a character to lose.” 

A wild-cat, maybe,” she suggested. 

Perhaps, but I’ll see.” 

I rose, still keeping my blanket wrapped 
around me, and ordered her to stay where she 
was under pain of being bound again. She 
promised, and I believed that she would not 
stir from her position on the log. The dark- 
ness and the desolation were not inviting. 

I walked out into the black bank of the 
night, but could neither see nor find anything. 
I made a complete circuit around the oasis 
of light from the fire, and all was peaceful and 
quiet. I returned to the log, ready to scold 
Old Put for giving a false alarm, but refrained, 
reflecting that he might be nervous and irri- 
table, owing to his lack of food. 

“ What did you find? ” asked the girl, 
looking at me with bright eyes. 

‘‘ Nothing.” 

I thought you wouldn’t find anything. 
It was a wild-cat, or maybe a harmless little 
squirrel.” 


50 


My Captive 

“ Aren’t you afraid of wild animals? ” 

“ Not with such a brave rebel as you near 
me.” 

I opened my eyes a little wider and looked 
at her. It was the first time she had com- 
plimented me, even in that half-mocking way, 
and I was surprised. 

“ I thought you did not allow me the pos- 
session of any desirable quality whatsoever,” 
I said. 

“ You are improving,” she replied. Per- 
haps it is due to my society. I may yet make 
you a loyal follower of King George and save 
you from the hangman.” 

I had my doubts about the “ loyalty,” 
which is a term devised for the protection of 
sovereigns in their crimes, but I said nothing 
just then. She too relapsed into silence. The 
heap of coals grew and glowed in the depths 
with deep crimsons and scarlets, throwing out 
a generous heat and wooing me to sleep. De- 
spite my sense of caution and the efforts of 
my will, my eyelids drooped. The castles in 
the coals became more indistinct and wavered 
as if they were made of red mist. 


51 


Supper and Song 

Old Put whinnied again and raised his 
head high in the air, like one who listens. I 
was wide awake in an instant and on my feet 
a second time. 

‘‘ Put/’ I said, ‘‘ if I find that you have 
given another false alarm you shall have noth- 
ing to eat in the morning.” 

I wouldn’t bother about it,” said 
the girl. It’s only a squirrel or a rabbit. 
Any horse would notice the passing of such 
an animal. Their senses are keener than 
ours.” 

She was growing very considerate of 
me! 

But I searched the wood once more, and 
finding nothing returned to my comfortable 
place. Old Put was restless and shuffled 
about; but, angry at his idle alarms, I com- 
manded him roughly to keep quiet, and he 
obeyed. 

The girl was humming softly to herself, 
as if she were thinking of her far-away English 
home. I supposed she was lonely and home- 
sick, and again some pity for her crept into 
my heart. 


52 


My Captive 

** Are you singing of your sweetheart? ’’ 
I asked, meaning to cheer her. 

“ I have none,’^ she replied. 

'' Not now, perhaps, but you will have 
some day.” 

‘‘ That is a different matter.” 

“ What kind of a sweetheart would you 
choose? ” 

A soldier, a gallant English soldier, one 
loyal to his king through all.” 

She continued to hum her little song. 
Something stirred in the wood, and Old Put, 
despite my previous command, whinnied and 
stamped his feet. 

“ Confound that beast, whatever it may 
be! ” I said. “ It must be a wild-cat attracted 
by the light of our fire.” 

“ Let the wild-cat go,” she said. ‘‘ Listen, 
and I will sing you a song that will tell you 
what my future betrothed and husband shall 
be. It’s an old Scotch song of devotion and 
loyalty, but we English sing it too, and like it 
as well as the Scotch. Dumbarton’s Drums 
we call it.” 

“ Sing,” I said. 


53 


Supper and Song 

Then she sang: 

“ Dumbarton's drums beat bonnie O, 

When they mind me of my dear Johnnie O ! 
How happy am I 
When my soldier is by, 

While he kisses and blesses his Annie O ! 

'Tis a soldier alone can delight me O, 

For his graceful looks do invite me O ! 

While guarded in his arms 
I’ll fear no war’s alarms, 

Neither danger nor death shall e’er fright me O ! 

“ My love is a handsome laddie O, 

Genteel, but ne’er foppish or gaudy O ! 

Though commissions are dear. 

Yet I’ll buy him one this year. 

For he’ll serve no longer a cadie O ! 

A soldier has honour and bravery O, 
Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery O ! 
He minds no other thing 
But the ladies or the king. 

For every other care is but slavery O ! 

“ Then I’ll be the captain’s lady O ! 

Farewell, all my friends and my daddy O ! 

I’ll wait no more at home. 

But I’ll follow with the drum. 

And whene’er that beats I’ll be ready O ! 
Dumbarton’s drums sound bonnie O ! 

They are sprightly like my dear Johnnie O ! 

How happy I shall be 
When on my soldier’s knee. 

And he kisses and blesses his Annie O ! ” 


54 


My Captive 

Her voice was deep and true, and the old 
war ballad was music in my ears. As the mel- 
ody rose and fell in the lonely night my eyes 
drooped again and my brain became dim with 
advancing slumbers, like a child soothed to 
sleep by the song of his mother. I was tired 
as a dog, I had ridden long and far and had 
worked much, and every nerve and muscle in 
me cried aloud for rest. But I roused myself 
as she finished and the last note of her song 
died in the darkness. 

‘‘ That is a proper military song,’’ I said, 
and nobly sung, but I object to the senti- 
ments of your hero. He minds no other thing 
but the ladies or the king. The ladies are all 
right, but no king. Leave the king out! ” 

Old Put was stamping his feet again. 

“ That’s right. Put,” I said. ‘‘ Applaud 
the song, for it was well sung, though you and 
I, who are good Americans, don’t altogether 
like the sentiments. That, I take it, is an old 
song of loyalty to the Stuarts. It is a singular 
thing to me how wholesome-minded English 
people can invest the Stuarts, whom they 
kicked out of their country, with so much ro- 


55 


Supper and Song 

mance and charm, when all history shows they 
were an utterly debased lot, and nobody 
knows it better than the English themselves/^ 
The sentiments of the song, king and all, 
are perfectly correct, and I’ll sing that verse 
to you again.” 

She looked at me with a look half defiance, 
half a smile, and sang: 

“ My love is a handsome laddie O, 

Genteel, but ne’er foppish or gaudy O ! 

Though commissions are dear, 

Yet I’ll buy him one this year, 

For he'll serve no longer a cadie O ! 

A soldier has honour and bravery O, 

Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery O ! 

He minds no other thing 
But the ladies or the king. 

For every other care is but slavery O ! ” 

She sang it still more softly and gently 
than before, and, though my eyelids drooped 
again, I turned my gaze from the bed of coals 
to her face. The firelight played ruddily over 
her eyes and cheeks, and the expression there 
seemed tender and far-away, as if her thoughts 
had gone from this dark night and the war- 
torn fields of South Carolina to the green 
English meadows and peaceful sunshine. 


56 


My Captive 

When she finished, I raised my hands and 
clapped them together. 

Well done! ’’ I said. Well done! ” 

“ Done well enough for us,” said some one, 
and strong hands reached over the log and 
grasped me by the wrists. My languor and 
my sleepiness were gone in an instant, and I 
made a powerful effort to wrench myself loose, 
but I had been taken too suddenly. Three or 
four men flung themselves upon me, and I 
was crushed under a great weight, while the 
firm grip was still on my wrists. I managed 
to deal somebody a heavy kick and heard a 
grunt of pain, but in a few seconds I was over- 
powered, and, like a wise man, ceased to 
struggle further. 

Singularly enough, one of my early 
thoughts in that moment was of relief that 
Old Put should prove to be a true prophet, 
having enjoyed such a good character in that 
respect so long. I was a fool not to take his 
warning more seriously. Then I wondered 
why the girl did not cry out at the sight of 
struggling men and the sound of oaths and 
blows, a violent medley usually very terrifying 


57 


Supper and Song 

to women. I caught one glimpse of her, and 
she was sitting on the log, her back against 
the upthrust bough, leaning upon it as lazily 
as if she were in a rocking-chair in a parlour. 
The firelight still played over her face and eyes, 
but the soft and tender expression which had 
pleased me was gone. Instead the look that 
she turned upon me was a mixture of dislike, 
malice, and triumph. 

After meeting such a glance it was a relief 
to me to look another way and see who had 
captured me. 


CHAPTER V 


A CHANGE OF FRONT 

Tie him up well,” said one. “ These reb- 
els are not to be trusted, even when they are 
bound.” 

I gave careful notice to the man who 
spoke, evidently the leader of the party. He 
was of large size, middle age, and truculent 
features. His most noticeable characteristic 
was his drooping eyelids, which would induce 
the casual observer to think he was fast asleep, 
though in reality he was wide awake. He was 
dressed in the uniform of a captain in the Brit- 
ish army. I set him down as a partisan chief 
on a small scale. He had seven comrades, 
cast in the same mould as himself, all dressed 
in the uniform of British soldiers and rather 
wild of look. 

They bound me securely and set me with 
my back to the log and my face to the fire, 
much in the position that I occupied while the 
58 


59 


A Change of Front 

girl was singing. Confound her for lulling 
away my caution and suspicions in such a 
manner! I had no doubt now that she had 
seen the red uniforms of the men when first 
I went into the wood to seek the cause of 
the noise. I was a fool to let my distrust of 
her decrease for a moment. 

That was a complete job, Miss Howard,’* 
said the leader, well done by everybody, and 
your part is the best done of all.” 

You have rescued me from the hands of 
a rebel. Captain Crowder,” she replied, “ and 
I am back with my own people, for both of 
which I thank you.” 

I thought it was time for me to say some- 
thing. 

It is true you have trapped me between 
you. Captain Crowder, for so I hear the lady 
call you,” I said, but I wouldn’t exult, be- 
cause the next chance might be mine, and it 
would hurt your feelings for me to pay you 
back.” 

I don’t know about any next chance for 
you,” he replied, because here in the South 
we generally hang rebels.” 

5 


6o 


My Captive 

I did not reply to his threat, thinking I 
had said enough, and turned my head away. 
My glance fell now upon Old Put. His eyes 
were full of reproach to me. The I-told-you-so 
expression was there, and the I-am-sorry-for- 
you-and-myself look was mingled with it. ‘‘ I 
will never lose faith in you again, best of all 
comrades! ” I signalled back. 

Captain Crowder, having seized me, also 
seized my camp, evidently with the intention 
of spending the night there. He posted one 
sentinel, while the others sat around the fire, 
making themselves comfortable. The girl oc- 
cupied her old seat on the tree trunk, leaning 
against the projecting bough. 

Do you know where my father is. Cap- 
tain Crowder? ’’ she asked. 

“ With Tarleton,” he replied. 

And where is Tarleton? 

“ Hot on the chase of the rebel, Morgan, 
and his men.’^ 

Can we overtake Tarleton by noon to- 
morrow? 

Undoubtedly, for he has to go rather 
slowly, not knowing just where Morgan is. 


A Change of Front 6i 

He doesn’t want to run past the game. Mor- 
gan’s hard to catch, but when Tarleton once 
comes up with him there’ll be an end to one 
rebel army.” 

I listened to this conversation with the 
closest attention and continued to listen 
while he described Tarleton’s movements, 
force, and equipment. If I could escape him 
and the hangman’s rope with which he had 
threatened me, this information would be of 
great value to our cause. I was glad that I 
had torn up, for the sake of precaution, the 
girl’s letters and other written facts about us 
when I captured her, since she could rely now 
only upon speech. I waited for her to tell 
Crowder about me, but she said nothing on 
that point, and I reflected that her reticence 
was natural, as she would want to give her in- 
formation herself to Tarleton, and thus secure 
all the credit, instead of letting the guerilla, 
Crowder, claim at least half of it. 

Two of the men disappeared in the wood 
and returned in a few moments, leading the 
horses of the band, which they tethered to 
the trees near by. I guessed they had 


62 


My Captive 

seen the light of our fire at a distance, and, 
leaving their mounts there, had crept upon 
me. 

“ You will excuse us. Miss Howard, while 
we eat and drink a little,” said Crowder. 

We’ve ridden far to-day, and we’re tired and 
hungry.” 

Their appearance was sufficient indication 
that they needed food and rest, as the grime of 
travel was thick upon them. They rummaged 
their haversacks and saddle-bags and pro- 
duced bread and meat, which they began to 
eat greedily. They were absorbed like wild 
animals in their repast and paid no attention 
to anything else. 

The girl rose and walked over to me. 
Reaching down, she seized the end of the silk 
handkerchief, which was projecting from my 
pocket, and jerked it forth. She threw it into 
the fire and watched it burn, the red heat 
gripping the delicate silk and converting it in 
a moment to ashes. Then she turned upon 
me a face of flame. 

‘‘ You dared to bind me,” she said — ‘‘ you 
a rebel, and I an English woman, the daugh- 


A Change of Front 63 

ter of a loyal English officer! You dared to 
insult me so! ” 

‘‘ And I presume that is the reason you 
burn the handkerchief with which I bound 
you/’ I said. 

‘‘ Yes.” 

Now that you have begun the job of 
burning, I suppose you would like to burn 
me too, as I am the man who tied the 
handkerchief, and I did so because you de- 
served it.” 

She was silent, but her cheeks were as red 
as ever. 

“ I congratulate you upon your rescue, 
your rescuers, your company,” I said. 

They are loyal British soldiers.” 

‘‘ They wear the British uniform. Any 
ruffian and robber may do that.” 

I have seen Captain Crowder himself in 
the army of Cornwallis. My father knows 
him, and I do too.” 

“You know his face, and that is all. He 
may be a good enough British soldier when he 
is with Cornwallis, but elsewhere he is any- 
thing that suits his purpose. He can pretend 


64 My Captive 

to be American too. Look at him and his 
comrades now.” 

Every man had produced a bottle and was 
drinking deeply from it. The odour rose and 
was too strong to be swept away by the wind. 

‘‘ Behold them,” I repeated. “ I con- 
gratulate you on your company.” 

They drank deeply and replaced the bot- 
tles in their pockets, where I was sure they 
were not destined to remain long. The red 
fled from the girl’s face, but she said nothing, 
and giving me the same curious look of min- 
gled triumph and defiance, went back to her 
old place on the log. There she sat, staring 
straight into the fire, as if she were wholly 
oblivious of me and the other men around her. 

The partisans were in great glee. They 
laughed and cracked rough jokes, and pres- 
ently, as I had expected, pulled out the bottles 
again and took long, deep draughts, once, 
twice, thrice. Their faces flushed from the 
effect of the strong spirits, and the loudness 
and roughness of their talk increased. Crow- 
der, the leader, was the loudest and roughest 
of them all. 


^5 


A Change of Front 

“ That was a fine song you sang to that fel- 
low there when you set him a-napping for us 
to catch, Miss Howard,’’ he said presently, 
and we like music too, don’t we, boys? ” 

‘‘ Yes, yes! ” they roared, all together. 

‘‘ And won’t you kindly sing that song or 
another as good for us. Miss Howard? ” he 
continued. 

She made no answer, staring straight at 
the red embers, her cheeks pale. 

‘‘ I say, Miss Howard, don’t you hear? ” 
exclaimed Crowder roughly. 

Yes, I hear,” she replied, ‘‘ but I’m sorry 
I can’t oblige you. I can’t sing any more.” 

If you can sing for that d — d rebel 
there,” continued Crowder, “ I should think 
you could sing for us, who are good and loyal 
English like yourself.” 

She was silent again. 

Didn’t we rescue you? ” he continued. 
Aren’t we your saviours? Don’t you owe 
us gratitude? ” 

Still unanswered, he swore an oath and 
said to his comrades: 

“ Here’s gratitude for you, lads. Well, if 


66 


My Captive 

she won^t sing for us, we can sing for her. 
How do you like this, my lady? It’s called 
I’ll owre the Muir to Maggy, and it goes 
very well with the song you gave us just now.” 

Then he sang the old song, which like the 
girl’s was Scotch: 

“ And ril owre the muir to Maggy — 

Her wit and sweetness call me — 

There to my fair I'll show my mind, 
Whatever may befall me. 

If she loves mirth, I’ll learn to sing, 

Or like the Nine to follow. 

I’ll lay my lugs in Pindar’s spring 
And invocate Apollo. 

“ If she admire a martial mind. 

I’ll sheath my limbs in armour ; 

If to the softer dance inclined, 

With gayest airs I’ll charm her ; 

If she love grandeur, day and night 
I’ll plot my nation’s glory, 

Find favour in my prince’s sight. 

And shine in future story. 

“ Beauty can work wonders with ease 
Where wit is corresponding. 

And bravest men know best to please 
With complaisance abounding. 

My bonnie Maggy love can turn 
Me to what shape she pleases. 

If in her breast that flame shall burn 
Which in my bosom blazes.” 


A Change of Front 67 

His voice was not unmusical, and he had 
some idea of rhythm and measure. His com- 
rades joined him, and they roared out a chorus 
which must have penetrated to the farthest 
edge of the wood. 

“ ril not only sing for you. Miss Howard,” 
said Crowder, ‘‘ but Til <iance for you too.” 

It was plain enough that the man was 
drunk, and was relapsing into his natural con- 
dition of savagery. I hoped that he would fall 
into the fire, but he did not. His drunken 
head swayed from side to side, but he kept 
step to the measure of the song. 

One of the men drew his empty bottle and 
beat upon its side with his knife-blade. It 
made a lively tinkle that sounded like music, 
and the others, seeing his success, imitated 
him. Crowder had not only a vocal but an 
instrumental chorus as well. His zeal in- 
creased, and he danced like an Indian at a 
scalp-dance, while the men roared out the 
song and beat their bottles with enthusiasm. 

“ Again I congratulate you on your com- 
pany, your glorious band of rescuers. Miss 
Howard,” I called out to her. 


68 


My Captive 

I knew she heard me, but she did not re- 
ply. Her lips were set firmly, although her 
cheeks were growing paler and paler, and she 
seemed to be white to the hair. I tugged at 
my bonds, but I could not move them. 

The song stopped for a moment, and 
Crowder, looking around for further amuse- 
ment, spied me. 

“ A good song, boys, and good fun,’’ he 
cried, “ but here’s better fun. Let’s hang the 
prisoner and see him squirm.” 

The others, as drunk as their leader, 
shouted their approval, but the girl sprang up. 

“ You shall not do that! ” she cried. 

“ And why not, miss? ” asked Crowder. 
“ He is our prisoner.” 

“ Because I will not permit it! ” she cried. 

They roared with laughter. 

“ If you do,” she said, ‘‘ I shall report your 
act to Colonel Tarleton. This man is an im- 
portant prisoner. He can guide Tarleton to 
Morgan, and he will do it to save his life. He 
must be taken safely to the British camp. 
Tarleton will reward you well.” 

“ All right, if you say so. Miss Howard,” 


A Change of Front 69 

he said. “ Anything to oblige, especially one 
as handsome as you are. And we won't hang 
him to-night. Maybe we’ll do it in the morn- 
ing anyhow, but that’s no reason why we 
should stop the fun now. A soldier’s life is 
hard, and he ought to make merry while he 
can.” 

He took a large flask from his haversack 
and shared it with his men. Then they began 
to sing and dance again, all of them wild with 
drink. 

It was an orgy of savages. The fire died 
down and ceased to blaze; only the red embers 
glowed in the darkness. I could feel the black- 
ness of the night as it rolled up and encircled 
us more closely. The girl was immovable. 
Her tawny hair shone in the dim light, and I 
saw that her face was still white, but that 
was all. 

One of the men fell down presently from 
sheer exhaustion. 

“ Let him lie,” said Crowder. He’ll 
sleep as well there as anywhere.” 

The man never moved, but began to 
snore, and a second one yielded to exertion 


70 


My Captive 

and whisky and, stretching out on the 
ground, went to instant sleep. Crowder 
himself was the third, and was followed speed- 
ily by the others, including the sentinel, who 
had joined without objection in the orgy. The 
eight men were sound asleep in a slumber 
heavy with weariness and liquor. 

A last brand fell over in the coals and 
blazed up. The girl rose from the log, and by 
its light I saw that her face had turned from 
white to red. She walked quickly over to me 
and said in a voice shaking with excitement 
and alarm: 

“Take me away from here, Mr. Marcel! 
Take me away at once! I would rather be 
with you than these men, these savages, these 
brutes! Nor is your life safe here! ” 

“They wear the British uniform; they 
must be loyal British soldiers,^’ I could not 
keep from saying. 

“ I do not know what they are,” she re- 
plied with alarmed insistence, “ but let’s go. 
Pray take me at once.” 

She pulled at my shoulders as if she would 
have me rise and go on the instant. 


A Change of Front 

Untie my wrists,” I said. 

She tugged at the cords, but could do 
nothing. They were tied too tightly. 

“ Take a knife from that drunken fool’s 
belt,” I said, indicating one of the men. 
“ Don’t be afraid. He won’t wake.” 

She secured the knife and cut my bonds. 
I rubbed my wrists together for a few minutes 
to take out the stiffness and restore the circu- 
lation. Again she urged me to start without 
delay. 

Wait a minute,” I said. We must pro- 
vide ourselves.” 

They had taken my arms from me when 
they bound me, and I recovered them, adding 
to my supply Crowder’s pistol and some am- 
munition. Then I turned to the horses. 

Old Put’s great dark eyes flamed with ap- 
proval and gladness. He had stood at his 
halter’s length, watching the orgy and my 
rescue with attention and understanding. 

We’ll bid farewell to these beasts now, 
old comrade,” I said in a whisper, patting his 
nose. 

He was too cautious to whinny a reply. 


72 


My Captive 

The brown hack was near him, but I saw an- 
other among those belonging to the guerillas 
which I fancied much more than him. I has- 
tily changed Miss Howard’s saddle to his 
back, assisted her to mount, and sprang upon 
Old Put. 

I turned the heads of our horses towards 
the northwest, but as the woods before us 
were dense and interlaced with wiry bushes 
and creeping vines, we dared not attempt 
more than a walk. The horses stamped and 
neighed as we left them. The girl’s mount 
stepped on a large, dry branch, which broke 
with a crack like a pistol-shot. Nor did ill 
luck stop at that. The abandoned horses, 
frightened by the report, neighed and stamped 
again, creating a great uproar. 

The sentinel, who was the least drunk of 
the party, sprang to his feet. He was yet half- 
dazed with sleep and liquor, but he saw the 
dim figures of a man and a woman riding away 
from the little encampment, and he knew 
that, according to the plans of Captain Crow- 
der, it was not what should be. He fired a 
hasty pistol-shot in our direction, the bullet 


A Change of Front 73 

clipping the dry twigs above our heads, and 
then shouted to his comrades to awake, giving 
emphasis to his cries with many sturdy kicks. 

“ Look out for your head! ” I shouted to 
Miss Howard. “ An untoward bough might 
prove fatal. And be sure you stay with me.’' 

'' I’ll not leave you,” she said. 

“ Now, Old Put,” I continued, “ lead us 
out of this.” 

He curved his long neck in the darkness 
and looked ahead with sharp brown eyes. I 
let the reins fall loose, and he wound about 
among the trees with a judgment that was 
never at fault. The other horse kept close at 
his side. Behind us we heard the cries of the 
awakened men as they leaped upon their 
mounts and rode after us, shouting to us to 
stop. Two or three more pistol-shots were 
fired, but the air received them. 

If the men saw at all, it was but dimly, 
though they could follow us by the hoof-beats 
of our horses and the tearing of the vines and 
slapping of the bushes as we passed. They 
made such a prodigious cursing and swearing 
that we were never in any doubt as to where 


74 


My Captive 

they were. I had a mind for a moment to send 
towards them a pistol-ball which would stop 
their noise, but I concluded that the greater 
uproar they made the better it would be for 
us, as it gave us exact warning of their ap- 
proach. They did not seem to be gaining 
upon us, which was a satisfaction for the pres- 
ent. Out on the plain they would see us more 
distinctly, but I believed that our horses could 
leave them there. 

I saw a beam of light shining through 
the lattice-work of the boughs, and then an- 
other and another, and knew that we should 
soon be in the open. The girl’s horse stum- 
bled, and she uttered a little cry of dismay, 
but in a moment the animal was steady on his 
feet again, and we went on. The beams grew 
more numerous and fused into a broad shield 
of moonlight. Two minutes more and we 
should be out of the wood and into the cleared 
ground, with the fields racing behind us. 

But the light had its evil. Against its 
broad silver disk we were silhouetted like the 
man in the moon, arid the popping of pistols 
told us we were becoming good targets. One 


75 


A Change of Front 

bullet passed so close to my head that I 
thought it must have cut a lock of hair in its 
passage, and I took it as a warning to hurry. 

‘‘Haste, Miss Howard!” I said. “We 
want to be beyond pistol-shot in the cleared 
ground, for the light will help them there.” 

She was riding well, and her expression 
was firm and courageous. We shook the reins 
against the necks of our horses, and, taking the 
chances of bush and vine, sped into the open 
as a volley of pistol-shots whistled after us. 

I uttered a shout, half of pleasure, half of 
defiance, to our pursuers, and bade Old Put 
show them what it was for a real racer to run 
his best. I felt confidence too in the horse 
the girl rode, for he was long-limbed. He 
looked like a strong animal, and he certainly 
had a clean, fast gait that kept him along- 
side of Old Put. 

I regarded our escape as assured, and the 
girl seemed to take a like view of the case. 
Relief showed in her eyes. 

“ Miss Howard,” I said cheerfully and 
egotistically, I congratulate you on the im- 
provement in your company.” 

6 


76 


My Captive 

At any rate, you are still a rebel, with a 
rope around your neck.” 

I seem to have been preferred to your 
British behind us, who do not have ropes 
around their necks, but deserve them. Re- 
member that I ride with you at your own in- 
vitation.” 

‘‘ Then you consider me still your pris- 
oner? ” 

Oh, I am yours; but, whether one or the 
other, I am to be guide.” 

The men behind us were silent, and we 
were sure of gaining upon them. I could see 
their figures rising out of the plain in the 
misty gray light, gigantic and distorted in 
shape, and the thud, thud of their horses’ 
hoofs, as regular as the ticking of a clock, 
came to our ears. 

Which way do we go? ” asked the 

girl. 

To Morgan, of course.” 

Then I shall soon be with my father and 
friends again.” 

Why do you think so? ” 

Because Tarleton will certainly take 


A Change of Front 

Morgan, and, of course, I shall be recap- 
tured.” 

She looked at me with much of the old 
sparkle and defiance and the absolute faith in 
British valour that British defeats seemed un- 
able to shake. I was annoyed, and my pa- 
triotic pride was hurt. 

You take it for granted that Tarleton 
will win if he should overtake Morgan? ” 

I do.” 

Yet you have heard the news from 
King’s Mountain? ” 

“ A chance, an accident.” 

'' The same chance, the same accident, 
may happen again.” 

“ Never.” 

I could not say her nay, for were we not 
retreating steadily before the advance of 
Tarleton, a retreat that seemed to all to be the 
part of wisdom, for again let it be said that 
we were fewer in numbers, far inferior in equip- 
ment, and more than half of our little army 
were raw troops, farmers? The exhilaration 
of the flight and escape disappeared for the 
time, and a heavy depression took its place. 


CHAPTER VI 

IN A STATE OF SIEGE 

Old Put stretched his neck, and the regu- 
lar, steady beat of his flying hoofs was music 
to a man who loves a good horse. But the 
new horse too lengthened his stride and kept 
by my side. I judged that he was a good com- 
rade for Old Put. The plain, grassy and un- 
dulating, rolled away before us, and I could 
not see its end. 

Our pursuers hung on, and I distrusted 
their silence. It betokened resolution, a de- 
termination to follow us mile after mile, to 
cling to the chase like hounds after a deer. 
I judged that among Crowder’s motives cha- 
grin at having made such a fool of himself 
and a desire to repair the error were the 
strongest. The men did not spread out fan- 
shape, but followed us in a close group. I was 
still sure that we were gaining, though very 
78 


79 


In a State of Siege 

slowly, and they seemed to think so too, for 
presently they fired two or three shots, as if 
they hoped to frighten us with spent balls. 
The girl’s horse swayed a bit to one side, and 
I thought he had stumbled again, but she said 
he was merely startled by the pistol-shots, and 
pulling him back into the true course we gal- 
loped on. 

We crossed a swell of the earth, and far out 
on the plain I saw the dim outlines of a small 
house — that is, a log cabin — rising from the 
earth. The girl’s horse threw up his head and 
uttered a neigh, or rather a cry or a great 
sigh, for it was almost like that of a human 
being, and staggered from side to side, his 
pace sinking quickly from a sure gallop to a 
shaky trot. His great eyes were distended 
with pain and fear, and blood and foam were 
on his lips. A dark-red clot of blood appeared 
upon his side, and I knew then that one of the 
bullets which I thought would fall short had 
struck him and the wound was mortal. 

Without my hand pulling upon his rein 
Old Put stopped and looked at the other horse 
with eyes of pity and sorrow, for he knew what 


8o 


My Captive 

was about to happen — he knew he was going 
to lose one who had been proving himself a 
worthy running mate and comrade. 

I leaped from Old Put’s back and snatched 
the girl from the saddle just as her horse reeled 
and fell, giving up his honest life with one 
great groan. 

I half lifted, half pushed her upon Old 
Put’s back, where she sat securely despite the 
man’s saddle. Once she protested, but I 
roughly bade her be silent and obey me and 
we should escape yet. Then she said no more. 

“ See the house yonder? ” I said. We 
shall reach that and beat them off. Maybe we 
shall find allies there. This should be a pa- 
triot region.” 

I rested one arm on Old Put’s shoulder. 
The girl was on the horse’s back, and I, partly 
supported by him, ran by his side. It is a 
trick that the borderers will tell you is com- 
mon and useful enough. Old Put gave me 
great assistance, for he understood, and as we 
flew along, my feet at times seemed not to 
touch the ground. 

Our pursuers reached the crest of the swell 


In a State of Siege 8i 

and raised a shout of triumph as they saw the 
dead horse in the path, and the single horse 
running on, carrying one of the fugitives and 
half carrying the other. 

I took a quick look backward and calcu- 
lated that we should reach the hut in time. 
Our pursuers evidently did not think so, as 
they fired no more shots. The girl was silent, 
her hands folded upon the pommel of my sad- 
dle and her face all white again. She left the 
direction of everything to me. 

The cabin continued to rise from the plain, 
the corners, the eaves, and the roof appearing 
until it stood before us distinct and near at 
hand. 

Now, Put, old comrade, greatest of 
horses,’’ I cried, ‘‘we are nearing the goal! 
Show them how much strength and speed you 
have kept in reserve for this last effort! Show 
them what you can do when you try your 
best!” 

He replied by deed, and I fairly swung 
through the air as we raced straight to the 
cabin. I expected some tousled head to ap- 
pear, roused by the thunder of so many hoofs. 


82 


My Captive 

but none came. The place remained silent 
and lone. There was a small garden, but no 
fence around either it or the house. 

Old Put dashed straight for the door, as 
if he knew what was wanted of him — I have 
no doubt he did — and stopped five feet in front 
of it so abruptly that the girl would have shot 
over his head had I not held her. 

She sprang to the ground. I slipped the 
bridle off Old Put, gave him a slap, and cried: 

Go!’^ 

He galloped around the house and disap- 
peared, his hoof-beats dying away in the dark- 
ness. Then I pushed open the door and 
rushed in, dragging the girl after me. I 
slammed it back and looked for the bar that 
is commonly used as a fastening in such fron- 
tier houses. There it was, and I shoved it 
into its place. Nothing but a battering-ram 
could break in that door now! 

Safe for the time!” I cried. ‘‘I defy 
them to take us in this fort ! ” 

Then I looked around me. The girl, half 
fainting, had staggered against the wall and 
was leaning there. It was a house of but a 


83 


In a State of Siege 

single room. On a wide brick hearth a fire 
was still burning, or rather smouldering, yet 
it threw out enough light to disclose the con- 
tents of the place. It held no human being 
save ourselves. Everything of value except 
the heavy furniture, which was of the rudest 
description and worth not much more than 
raw lumber, was removed, and the whole ap- 
pearance of the room indicated that its occu- 
pants had taken a hasty departure. It was 
easy enough to guess the cause. Some poor 
family, frightened by the converging of the 
armies upon this region, and with good 
reason too — for no other State was harried in 
this war as was ours of South Carolina — had 
gathered up their portable goods and fled to 
safer quarters — perhaps not an hour before 
our arrival, as was proved by the fire still 
burning. 

“ They might have made things a little 
more comfortable for us,” I said cheerfully, for 
my spirits had gone up with a leap; “ but it’s 
good as it is, and we haven’t any right to com- 
plain. Mr. South Carolina Farmer, whoever 
you are and wherever you are, we thank you.” 


84 


My Captive 

The girl smiled faintly and walked me- 
chanically to the fire, where she sat down on a 
rude stool and spread out her fingers before 
the coals as if she were in her home. 

“ Take a little of this,” I said, as I saw 
that she was half dazed. There was yet some 
whisky in my flask, and I handed it to her. 
She obeyed me like a child and drank. 

Then I turned my attention to the single 
window, which was closed with a heavy but 
ill-fitting shutter, a few wandering moon- 
beams finding a way through the cracks. 
Peeping out, I could see the guerillas dis- 
mounted beyond pistol-shot and holding a 
conference. 

‘‘ They are talking; but let 'em talk, my 
dear,” I said to the girl. They can't get us 
in this cabin. What a neat, stout little place 
it is! ” 

I really began to have a friendly feeling 
towards her. We had been through dangers 
together, and, besides, she was my prisoner. 
It is much easier for the conqueror to be gen- 
erous to the conquered than for the conquered 
to be generous to the conqueror. 


85 


In a State of Siege 

She did not reply either to my words or my 
manner. Her cheeks, which had been so white 
before, were faintly flushed with pink, but I 
could not tell whether it was the fire or not. 
She seemed to me to be in a state of collapse, 
natural to a girl, even the strongest and brav- 
est, in such circumstances. 

“ Now set the table for us,” I said. “ We 
must eat a little after our long, hard ride, as 
we shall need our strength. See if you can’t 
find a candle in that cupboard. And here, 
take my bundle and get out the food.” 

I handed her the wallet of bread and meat 
snatched from Old Put’s back almost with 
the same motion with which I had swept off 
his bridle. She took it, drew the rough pine 
table to the centre of the room, and spread 
the food upon it. Then, sure enough, she 
found in the cupboard a piece of old tallow 
candle, which she lighted and stuck in the 
middle of the table. These simple household 
duties seemed to revive her. Her eyes bright- 
ened, her colour came back, and her first 
thought was half to defend, half to apologize, 
for her previous collapse. 


86 


My Captive 

‘‘ I was tired merely,” she said. “ I did not 
lose courage. Don’t think that. I’m an Eng- 
lish girl.” 

‘‘ I never said you lost courage,” I replied. 

I think that you have borne yourself brave- 
ly, almost as well as an American girl would 
have done in the same situation.” 

“ Show me the one who would have done 
better,” she said, with a flash of the eye. 

But that was manifestly impossible at the 
time, and I made no such attempt. 

“ The table is ready, and we wait only for 
the army to take a seat and enjoy itself,” she 
said in a light tone. 

“ Come and have a look at our enemies 
first,” I said, noticing how her strength and 
courage had come back and how well they 
became her. 

She put her eyes to one of the cracks and 
looked out. Crowder and his men, uncon- 
sciously imitating us, were making themselves 
comfortable, first by building a great bonfire, 
and then by sitting around it and keeping 
warm. They had tethered their horses near, 
and from their position they could watch the 


In a State of Siege 87 

house very well and detect us if we came 
forth. 

‘‘ Why do they follow us so persistently? ” 
the girl asked. 

For a variety of reasons,” I replied. “ I 
might mention as one that they are anxious 
to take me. You know you informed them 
that I was the bearer of very important news 
which I would tell, under proper pressure, to 
Tarleton, and for which they might get a large 
reward.” 

But that was not true.” 

They do not know that it was not.” 

I wish they were real British soldiers,” 
she said. “ I do not believe that any of them 
ever saw England. I believe they are Ameri- 
can Tories, maybe American rebels in British 
uniforms.” 

I did not care to argue with her, such is 
the strength of prejudice founded on teaching 
and training, especially British prejudice, and 
most especially the prejudice of British 
women. Nor did I have any proof that they 
were not American outlaws. 

Why did you take off his bridle? ” 


88 My Captive 

she asked as she turned away from the win- 
dow. 

I had hung Old Put’s bridle on a nail in 
the wall. 

“ In order that I may have it when I want 
to put it on him again, which won’t be long, 
I hope,” I replied. 

'' Why, the horse is gone! ” she said. 

I laughed, laughed in her face, which 
turned red, and then, seeing that it was red, 
deliberately laughed again. Here was a wom- 
an who prided herself on her intelligence and 
quickness of mind, and with good cause too, 
so I had begun to believe, and yet after pass- 
ing a day and part of a night in Old Put’s 
presence she knew so little about him! 

Why do you laugh? ” she asked redly 
and angrily. 

“ I laugh at your ignorance,” I replied, 
the fact that you know so little of our com- 
rade, in many respects the shrewdest and 
ablest of us three, as he is certainly the swift- 
est and the strongest. That horse has not 
left us. I merely took his bridle off in order 
that he might not be troubled with it, that 


89 


In a State of Siege 

he might eat better, for no doubt he will find, 
somewhere around here, even in winter, a bit 
of grazing on a sheltered and sunny south- 
ern slope. He will take care of himself and 
come back to us when we need him.” 

But suppose the guerillas take him? ” 

I wish I was as sure that they would not 
take us,” I said. 

Then I led the way to the table. I drew up 
the stool for the lady and an old pine box that 
I found in a corner for myself. A little water 
was left in the canteen. She drank part of it 
and said: 

‘‘Here’s to the health of King George!” 

“ Yes,” I said as I drank the remainder of 
the water, “ this is to the health of King 
George — George Washington! I’m glad to 
see that your conversion has begun.” 

She frowned at me, but we had an ami- 
cable dinner over the scraps nevertheless. I 
stopped at intervals to watch the progress of 
the partisans outside. They had not yet made 
any movement against us, and all sat or lay 
around the fire. I counted them — eight — and 
I knew that all were there, as choice a lot of 


90 


My Captive 

scoundrels as one could find on the soil of the 
thirteen colonies. 

I turned my eyes away from the crevice to 
look at the girl. The rest and the bit of food 
had made a wonderful improvement. She was 
a true English rose, I could see that — a rose 
of Devon or Warwick or Kent, or whatever is 
fairest among their roses — a girl with yellow 
hair that shone like fresh gold in the sun, 
tinted with red in the firelight, and a brow of 
white, and cheeks of the warm pink that is 
the heart of the pink rose. Oh, well, as I said 
twice before, everybody knows that the most 
beautiful women are the most dangerous, and 
I wondered if these Saxon maidens of Eng- 
land were ever an exception. For a moment 
I felt a thrill of warmth and kinship for old 
England. 

What are you thinking of, Mr. Marcel? ’’ 
she said suddenly, as she looked up. “ Why 
are you so serious? 

“ I am astonished that you should address 
me as Mr. Marcel and not as a rebel with a 
rope around his neck.” 

She patted the floor meditatively with 


In a State of Siege 91 

her foot and looked away from me and at 
the fire. 

“ It was a mistake due to forgetfulness,” 
she replied with an air of resentment. ‘‘ I 
shall not do it again.” 

'' I would not forget epithets when you 
speak of us,” I said. You will get out of 
practice, and then you will be unlike the re- 
mainder of your countrymen and country- 
women.” 

Do you want another quarrel? ” she 
asked pointedly. I should think that we had 
enough to do to carry on our war with those 
men outside.” 

She went to the window and took a long 
look. 

They are still by the fire,” she said, and 
I see your horse too. He is dining, like the 
rest of us.” 

Where?” I cried, for I was somewhat 
surprised at the early reappearance of Old 
Put. 

There’s another crack here. Use it,” she 
said. Don’t you see him grazing over there 
to the left in that field surrounded by a tum- 
7 


92 


My Captive 

ble-down fence, or rather the rails of what 
used to be a fence? ” 

In truth it was Old Put, about fifty yards 
to the left of the cavalrymen and grazing with 
supreme horse content, as if no enemy were 
within fifty miles of him. It was a southern 
slope on which he stood, and I suppose some 
blades of grass retained their freshness and 
tenderness despite the wintry winds. It was 
these that Old Put sought, with the assiduous 
attention to detail and keen eye for grist 
characteristic of him. There was a fine, full 
moon, shedding a silver-gray light over the 
earth. Old Put was clothed in its radiance, 
and we could see him as distinctly as if he 
stood at the window — the tapering head; the 
velvety nose, which slid here and there over 
the grass in search of the tender stems; the 
sinewy neck, and the long, powerful body, 
marked often, it is true, by wear and war, but 
in the prime and zenith of its strength. My 
saddle was still upon his back, but that was 
a trifle to which he had long since grown ac- 
customed in his life with a cavalryman. 

How rash of him, I thought, to come so 


93 


In a State of Siege 

near the British! The doubt which I had of 
Old Put when he allowed himself to be de- 
ceived by the girl came back to me. Perhaps 
he was really growing old, falling into his do- 
tage. Surely nothing else could account for 
his taking such a risk! I would have shouted 
to him to go away had I thought he could 
hear me, but I knew my voice could not reach 
him, and in suspense and anxiety I merely 
watched that old horse as he continued to 
graze almost within the light of his enemy's 
camp-fire. 


CHAPTER VII 

THE TEMPER OF OLD PUT 

My fears found ample justification, for the 
men soon turned their attention to the horse, 
and two rose and approached him. I looked 
upon him as one impounded, and he alone was 
to blame, for he should have known bet- 
ter. One of the men made a wide circuit and 
came up carefully behind, while the other ap- 
proached with equal cautk)n from the front, 
whistling in a soft and coaxing way and hold- 
ing out his hand. Evidently they appreciated 
the value of a good horse, and no doubt they 
had stolen enough from patriot farmers to 
have experience. Old Put never raised his 
head to look at them, but continued his hunt 
for blades of grass. He certainly heard their 
approaching footsteps, and I was convinced 
now that his dotage was really at hand. 

I thought you said he was the most intel- 

94 


The Temper of Old Put 95 

ligent of us three/' said the girl ironically, 
and here he is, gone to sleep and letting him- 
self be taken, to be used perhaps as a common 
cart-horse." 

Her words were an insult to us both. Old 
Put and me, but I knew no timely reply, and 
I endured them in silence. 

The man in front, emboldened by Old 
Put's gentleness, approached more rapidly and 
was soon within fifteen feet of the horse. Old 
Put raised his head, and looking at the in- 
truder a moment lowered it and went on nip- 
ping the grass. 

The fellow, holding out his hand, stepped 
forward and seized Old Put by the neck. The 
horse, with a neigh that was human in its an- 
ger, turned and bit deep into his shoulder. A 
scream, wilder, more fearful than any I have 
ever heard before or since, rose from the man's 
throat as the horse reared high in the air and 
smote him to the earth with his forefeet. The 
girl turned her eyes away in horror as he was 
crushed to pulp beneath the fierce beat of the 
steel-shod hoofs, time for but one cry being 
given to him, but I kept mine at the crevice. 


96 


My Captive 

though I will confess that the blood was rather 
a chilly torrent in my veins. 

The other man, the one behind, faced 
about and fled when he saw the death of his 
comrade, and the single look that I had of 
him showed fright to the marrow. The horse, 
raising his head, trotted away over the hill. 
The moonlight fell upon him there in distorted 
rays and enlarged him into a gigantic figure. 
In the gray light he looked like some phantom 
horse, a wild creature that brought death. 

The band, recovering from the momentary 
paralysis caused by the sudden acquaintance 
of their comrade with death, snatched out 
their pistols and fired at the horse as they 
would have fired at a man in his place, but 
their aim was wild, for Old Put gave no sign 
of a hit, trotting steadily on, his figure grow- 
ing larger and more threatening in the exag- 
gerating rays of the moonlight, until he disap- 
peared beyond the swell of the earth. The 
thing that had been living lay in the dead 
grass, and I was glad it was almost hidden 
by some rocks and the roll of the earth. 

‘‘ He is gone, Julia,'’ I said, '' and I don't 


The Temper of Old Put 97 

think those men will try to take my horse 
again.” 

I laughed a little, with a rather forced 
gaiety, for the influence of the sudden trag- 
edy was still upon me. Yet I was glad that 
Old Put had redeemed himself so conclusively 
from the charge of incaution and dotage, 
which I would never again bring against him, 
even should they come to be true in the course 
of the years. 

The girl returned to the crevice, and we 
watched the outlaws for some minutes. After 
the hasty discharge of the pistols they went 
back to the fire, making no movement either 
to pursue Old Put or to remove the body of 
their fallen comrade. They would have liked 
well enough to obtain a good horse, but they 
were not going to bother about such a trifle 
as a dead man. 

‘‘ Do you think they will attack us? ” asked 
the girl. 

‘‘Well, no; not yet, at least,” I replied. 
“ The advantages of the defence are too great, 
and these men are mere raiders and robbers. 
They are not going into a dangerous venture 


98 


My Captive 

unless the chances are largely on their side. 
Perhaps they think we shall become fright- 
ened and surrender to-morrow.’’ 

‘‘ You surely will not do that? ” 

‘‘ I had no such intention, worthless rebel 
as I am, but if you say surrender I will go out 
and notify them this minute.” 

“ You know I meant nothing of the kind.” 

She spoke rather sharply, and leaving the 
window went back to the table, which she be- 
gan to clear away. She gathered up the scraps 
and put them back neatly. Then she brushed 
the crumbs into her hand, for lack of any- 
thing else, and threw them in the fire, and hav- 
ing done that pushed the table to one side 
against the wall. I made no offer to help her, 
as she did everything with such skill and de- 
spatch, and I was content to watch her. Nor 
did she say anything to me, but, her work 
done, took her stool again and sat down at the 
corner of the hearthstone, leaning her head 
against the wall of the chimney and gazing 
into the dying fire. 

The last log was smouldering on the 
hearth and threw but a feeble light. I blew 


The Temper of Old Put 99 

out the candle, thinking we might need it in 
case our enemies made any hostile movement, 
and the darkness gathered at once in half the 
room, only a dim glow showing as a fringe to 
the fire. 

“ I think you'd better go to sleep,” I said 
to the girl. “ It is always well to save one's 
strength, and now is a chance for rest.'' 

‘‘ And you? '' 

I don't want any sleep. I'll stay at the 
window and watch.'' 

‘‘ But you need rest as well as I.” 

“ Why do you bother yourself about a vil- 
lainous rebel who is going to be hanged any- 
way by his justly angry king? '' 

“ I wish you would stop talking that 
way.” 

Her tone was rather plaintive. Undoubt- 
edly she was tired and worn by anxieties, and 
I obeyed her request. I made her wrap her 
cloak around her, and though she declared 
stoutly that she would not go to sleep, merely 
wishing to lean her head against the wall and 
rest, her eyelids drooped and fell, and in two 
minutes she slumbered. 


LofC. 


100 My Captive 

The fire sank lower, eating its way along 
the log, until only a few inches of wood were 
left. The girl slept soundly. The curve of 
the chimney into the wall formed a kind of 
nook, and her head and shoulders rested eas- 
ily there like a picture, framed against the 
rough logs, which were unplastered and not 
even smoothly hewn. I trusted that she 
would sleep the night through, and as the fire 
sank lower and lower and the darkness crept 
up to the hearthstone, almost hiding her fig- 
ure, the stillness of midnight came, and I 
could hear her regular breathing in the dead 
silence. 

I went back to the window. The fire of 
the outlaws — for such they were — faced it, 
and I could see that five of the men had lain 
down and gone to sleep. The other two were 
sitting up, weapons at hand, and I inferred 
they had been detailed as sentinels, though 
their lazy attitudes showed well enough that 
it was a job they did not like. For all I could 
tell at the distance, these too might be asleep, 
sitting. 

I watched them for a half hour or more. 


The Temper of Old Put loi 

and grew very tired of the business. The 
brightness of the moonlight culminated, and 
the earth lost its silver tint, shading into a 
dark, dull gray. The figures of our besiegers 
became shadowy and shapeless. It was a time 
for sleep, and I felt it in all my bones. A 
trooper doesn’t ask much. If I could have 
taken my blanket and put myself down on a 
reasonably smooth piece of turf under the 
shade of a tree, with the certainty that no 
enemy would waken me, it would have been 
sufficient. I should have slept the sleep of 
the just, or the tired unjust, which is often as 
good. 

I drew the box up to the window and sat 
on it, resolved to listen, now that I was weary 
of looking. I wondered what had become of 
Old Put, the manslayer, and tried to discover 
why I had been such a fool as to distrust him, 
even for a moment. 

Thus musing, I noticed that the fire 
had gone out; that I could see nothing — in 
fact, that the room was pitchy dark. I opened 
my eyes, remembering that all things must be 
dark to a man with his eyes shut, and saw 


102 


My Captive 

again the flickering Are and the flgure of the 
girl half-reclining in the chimney-corner. 

This would not do. I was the whole army 
— horse, foot, artillery, and baggage-wagons, 
commander-in-chief, colonels, captains, and 
privates — and we could never go to sleep all 
at once. I undertook to walk briskly around 
the room in order to stir my sluggish blood 
into watchfulness, but that would wake the 
girl, and I did not want to do such a cruel 
thing. I stopped in front of her and gazed at 
her face attentively. Asleep she did not look 
at all the spitfire she was awake. Mingled 
with her beauty now was a certain wanness, a 
something that was pathetic, a look that ap- 
pealed to a man for protection and strength. 
After all, she was but a girl, and why should 
I care for the bitter things she said when prob- 
ably half the time she said them she was sorry? 

I went back to the window and looked 
out once more. The besieging army was tak- 
ing its comfort. The part which had stretched 
itself on the ground remained stretched, and 
the part which watched sagged more than ever 
towards the horizontal. It was a lazy army, 


The Temper of Old Put 103 

that was evident, and I resolved that I would 
set it an example of superiority. 

Having made these brave resolutions, I 
sat down on the stool and leaned my head 
once more against the wall, not because I was 
tired and sleepy, but merely that I might re- 
serve my strength for a crisis, the most neces- 
sary thing in the world to a soldier, every man 
of experience knowing that an army fights 
better if it goes into battle well fed, well 
clothed, and well rested. It was a good argu- 
ment, that bore extension, and I closed my 
eyes that they too might have rest, as they felt 
weary and clogged. Then, do what I would 
or could, weariness and sleep took charge of 
me. Tired muscles rose in open and defiant 
rebellion against mind and will. 

The combat was short and fierce, but mat- 
ter triumphed over mind, and in five minutes 
I was in the midst of a sleep that was heavenly 
with rest, unpeopled by bad dreams, with my 
head back against the wall and my breathing 
long and regular. Meanwhile the bed of coals 
on the hearth became smaller and paler. The 
rim of fire narrowed. Coals turned from red 


104 My Captive 

to black and then to gray and crumbled into 
ashes. The darkness crept up to the very edge 
of the hearthstone and then invaded it. The 
girl was completely in the shadows, and the 
pale glimmer of the fire was but a faint light 
left in the room. 

The sleeping man and the sleeping girl 
were tired, very tired, and they slept soundly. 
If they had dreams, they were pleasant ones, 
and no thought of danger entered into them. 
Their foes around the camp-fire moved away 
to the other side of the world, and the little 
cabin was peaceful for them, inside and out- 
side. Sleeping thus, they did not see the men 
rise from the camp-fire and approach the hut, 
now veiled in a darkness that made such a 
movement safe. 

These men reached the cabin without 
alarm or a sign from the watcher who was not 
watching, and at last one tried the shutter 
of the window. He pried at it with his knife 
and moved it a little. Then he put his ear to 
the crack and could hear nothing within. Re- 
placing his ear with his eye, he saw the feeble 
glimmer of the fire and no more. He was sure 


The Temper of Old Put 105 

that those whom he wished to take were 
asleep, and he exulted. He pried again at the 
window, and with greater leverage it yielded 
further, and wood scraped against wood. He 
stopped and listened once more, but the in- 
mates of the cabin never stirred. 

Putting his ear to the wide crack that now 
intervened between the shutter and the wall, 
the outlaw listened again and heard the 
steady, regular breathing of some one inside 
and below. He knew it was the breathing of 
a sleeping man, too loud and strong for a 
woman, too even for one awake, and he 
reached up and pulled the shutter wide open 
on its rude leather hinges. Then he grasped 
the edge of the window with both hands and 
raised himself up. 

My sleep grew troubled at last and then 
turned into a nightmare. Some huge wild 
beast, after the fashion of beasts in nightmares, 
was sitting on my chest and blowing his breath 
in my face, while I had no power to move a 
muscle. I was cold to the marrow and waited 
for him to devour me, but instead he dwindled 
away and became misty. With one great ef- 


io6 My Captive 

fort I threw him off my chest and leaped to 
my feet. My head struck against somebody 
else’s head as I sprang up, and that some- 
body else swore an oath that had the savour 
neither of a nightmare nor a dream, but of 
reality. 

Cold air and moonlight rushed in at the 
window, but most of the passage was filled up 
by the shoulders and head of a large man 
whose face I could not see owing to the im- 
perfect light. He held in his hand a pistol 
which he fired at me, but now the imperfect 
light was to my advantage and not his, for 
his bullet, avoiding me, buried itself with 
a chuck in the log walls, and the report con- 
fined in the small room roared like a cannon- 
shot. 

Moved more by impulse and instinct than 
by thought, I snatched out my own pistol and 
fired at the head in the window. The man ut- 
tered a deep sigh; the body dropped forward 
and swayed there; I heard the light drip, drip 
of something on the floor, and then the body 
fell inside the room. 

The girl, suddenly awakened by the ter- 


The Temper of Old Put 107 

rible sounds and half in a maze, cried out in 
fright and then began to ask in a high, trem- 
bling voice what had happened. 

“ Our foes have attacked us,” I said. 
“ One of them was in the shadow, and I threw 
him back. Stand out of range of the win- 
dow.” I did not want her to see the thing 
lying on the floor, and I shoved the table in 
front of it. 

She obeyed, for I spoke the last sentence 
very sharply. The window was wide open, 
and, expecting to see another face there, I 
held my second pistol ready; but none ap- 
peared, and I had no doubt that they feared 
their comrade was dead. 

Taking the risk, I reached out an arm, 
seized the shutter, and slammed it shut, secur- 
ing it as best I could with the leather strap 
and nail used as a fastening. Then, with my 
ear near the crevice, I listened, but could not 
hear our enemies. I feared at first to look out 
lest I should receive a bullet, but still hearing 
nothing I applied my eye and saw that the 
men had gone back to their fire. They were 
all there — six. I counted them and knew that 
8 


io8 My Captive 

none was missing. They were deliberating 
evidently over the fall of their comrade and 
what next to do, and I took an immediate 
resolution. 

‘‘ Light the candle,” I said to the girl. 
“ Hold it to the fire. There’s enough heat 
left to start the wick to burning.” 

She did so, and saw that something lay 
behind the table. 

“ What is that? ” she cried. 

A dancer and singer of last night,” I re- 
plied, seeing that I should have to tell. “ One 
of those desperadoes outside came into our 
fort, but he came into his grave.” 

She retreated, shuddering, to the farthest 
corner of the room. 

“ Now, you do exactly as I say,” I con- 
tinued. Remember that you are the rank 
and file of this army, and I am its com- 
mander.” 

I will obey you,” she said. 

I quickly reloaded my pistol. 

Then I shoved the table away again and, 
overcoming my repulsion, dragged the dead 
body to a sitting position. A chill struck 


The Temper of Old Put 109 

into my marrow, but I pulled off the red 
British coat and, having discarded my own, 
put it on. Then I gathered up the wallet of 
food and Old Put’s bridle and took down the 
bar from the door. 

“ Come,” I said; “we are going to leave 
this place while they are planning by the fire 
and their backs are turned to us.” 

It was a bold measure, involving many 
risks, but I believed that it would succeed if 
we kept our courage and presence of mind. 
For at least two or three minutes they would 
think I was their comrade, victorious, and 
that would be worth much. When I took 
down the bar, I stopped a moment. 

“ Keep by my side,” I said. “ Remember 
that we must become separated by no chance. 
Here, take this pistol! You can shoot, can’t 
you? ” 

She said “Yes,” and took the pistol. Then 
I opened the door and we dashed out, run- 
ning with quick and noiseless steps across the 
clearing towards the wood, which rose in a 
dim line ahead of us. 

While the window opened towards the 


no 


My Captive 

camp-fire of the besiegers the door did not, 
and we had gone perhaps fifty yards before 
they saw us. This I knew by the surprised 
shout that came to our ears, and looking back 
I saw them hesitating, as if in doubt about my 
identity, and at last running towards their 
horses. I was glad that they would pursue on 
horseback, and I had taken that probability 
into consideration when we made a dash from 
the house, for even at the distance I could see 
that the dim forest looked dense and a poor 
place for the use of horses. 

“ Courage, Julia! ” I said, taking her hand. 

In a minute or two we shall be into the 
woods, and that means safety.” 

I looked back a second time. The gueril- 
las reached their horses, mounted them, and 
turned their heads our way, but in doing it 
their time lost was our gain. Unless lamed 
by some unlucky pistol-shot, we should surely 
gain the wood. They fired once or twice, and 
I heard the thunder of their horses’ hoofs, but 
I had little fear. I still held the girl’s hand in 
mine, and she made no effort to draw it away. 
She was running with a firm, sure step, and. 


Ill 


The Temper of Old Put 

though her face was white and her eye excited, 
she seemed to retain both her courage and 
presence of mind. 

The wood was not as far as I had calcu- 
lated, and when our pursuers were many yards 
away we dashed into it at such headlong haste 
that I tripped over a vine and fell upon my 
nose, burying it in a pile of soft leaves, which 
saved it from harm. But I was up again, 
rejoicing at the accident, for in a wood 
interlaced with vines horses could make no 
progress. 

“ I hope you are not hurt? ” asked Julia 
anxiously. 

“Hurt? Not a bit of it!’’ I replied. 
“What a blessing these woods are! How 
dark it is in here, and what a blessing that is 
too!” 

In fact, the wood was our good luck and 
our best luck at that, for even we on foot 
found it difficult to make our way through it. 
Afar we could hear our pursuers cursing in 
profusion and variety as they strove to force 
their horses through the dense bush. 

“ Hold my hand,” I said to Julia, “ as 


1 12 My Captive 

otherwise I might lose you in all this darkness 
and density.’’ 

But instead of waiting for her to take my 
hand, which she might not have done, I took 
hers, and, bidding her again to step lightly, 
I led the way, curving among the trees and 
bushes like a brook winding around the hills 
in search of a level channel. My object was to 
leave our pursuers at a loss concerning our 
course, and we soon ceased to hear their 
swearing or the struggles of their horses. I 
dropped into a walk, and, of course, the girl 
did likewise. 

“ I think we are safe now,” I said. “ There 
is not one chance in a hundred to bring them 
across our path again. What a fine wood! 
What a glorious wood! There is no such 
wood as this in England. It grew here espe- 
cially for our safety, Julia.” 

“ It did grow up in time,” she replied, 
‘‘ but now that you think us safe again 
you can call me Miss Howard, and not 
Julia.” 

“ That’s true, and now that we are safe 
again I must ask you. Miss Howard, as an 


The Temper of Old Put 113 

especial favour to me, to please quit holding 
my hand/' 

I am not holding your hand, Mr. Mar- 
cel! ” she replied indignantly. “ It is you who 
are holding mine, but you shall not do so a 
moment longer." 

She tried to jerk her hand away. I let her 
jerk three or four times, and then I added as 
an afterthought: 

“ It is very dark here, and there is still 
danger that we might become separated. I 
think I will let you hold it a little longer, but 
I shall endure it merely because it is a military 
necessity." 

She gave her hand a most violent jerk, 
and it nearly slipped from me, but I renewed 
my grip in time. 

Simply a military necessity," I repeated, 
and, seeing that it was useless, she made no 
further effort to withdraw the hand. I could 
not see her face, the darkness being too great, 
and therefore had little opportunity to judge 
of her state of mind. 

We walked on in silence, winding here and 
there through the wood, with an occasional 


1 14 My Captive 

stop to listen, though we heard nothing but 
the common noises of a forest — the crackling 
rustle of dry leaves and twigs, the gentle sway- 
ing of some old tree as the wind rocked it, and 
the soft swish of the bushes as they swung 
back into place after we had passed between. 


CHAPTER VIII 
Julia’s revenge 

We walked for nearly an hour, and during 
the last three-quarters of it kept straight to 
the northwest, in which direction I thought 
Morgan, with his little army, lay, or rather 
marched. At last the bush became thinner 
and the trees stood farther apart. I inferred 
that we were approaching the end of the for- 
est, and I was not sorry, as the travelling was 
hard, and I believed that we had lost our pur- 
suers. Presently we came into the open, and 
I let the girl’s hand drop. 

“ Which way are we going now? ” she 
asked. 

Wait a moment,” I said. 

I put two fingers to my lips and blew be- 
tween them a whistle, soft, long, and pene- 
trating. 

“ Why do you do that? ” asked the girl in a 


ii6 My Captive 

fright, coming towards me. You will bring 
them upon us again.’’ 

“ Wait,” I repeated, and I blew the whistle 
a second time. We stood motionless for two 
minutes, and then I heard a faint crush, crush, 
as of approaching footsteps. 

‘‘ They are coming! ” cried the girl, seizing 
my arm. Let us run into the wood again.” 

“ Wait,” I said for the third time. 

The footsteps approached rapidly, and a 
figure, gigantic and formidable in the gray 
light, appeared through the trees. The girl 
cried aloud in a panic of terror and gripped 
my arm. 

‘‘ Don’t be alarmed, Julia dear,” I said. 

See who it is! ” 

Old Put walked up to me, gave his glad, 
familiar whinny, and rubbed his nose on my 
disengaged arm. Then he started back, and 
his eyes flamed with wrath. 

“ Don’t be angry, old comrade,” I said. 
“ It is true I wear a red coat, but it is only a 
disguise, a ruse, and I shall get rid of it as 
soon as I can.” 

He wagged his head as a sign that my 


117 


Julia’s Revenge 

apology was sufficient, and made no further 
protest. I slipped the bridle on him, and the 
girl broke into a nervous laugh of relief. 

“ Did you think Old Put would desert a 
comrade? ” I asked. 

Wait here just a moment,” I continued. 
I led Old Put a little distance and, gathering 
up some dry leaves, wiped the stains off his 
hoofs. Then I returned with him and told her 
to jump upon his back, but the horse shied 
away from her, showing aversion and anger. 

“ Never mind. Old Put,” I said. “ It is all 
right. She won’t beat you again. She likes 
us both.” 

‘‘ It seems to me that you are rather in- 
clusive in your statements,” she said. 

Get up,” I ordered, and, giving her a 
hand, I assisted her to jump upon the back of 
Old Put, who received my explanation with 
perfect confidence and assumed a protecting 
air towards her. 

‘"And now once more for Morgan,” I 
said. 

Which, of course, means Tarleton in the 
end,” she said. “And I want to say, Mr. 


ii8 My Captive 

Marcel, that when the rebel army is taken I 
shall not forget the service you have done me 
at a great risk to yourself. My father has in- 
fluence with Colonel Tarleton, and I shall ask 
him to secure your good treatment while in 
captivity.'' 

She spoke with quite an English — that is 
to say, quite a patronizing — air. 

You are very kind," I replied, but Mor- 
gan has not been caught yet, has he. Old 
Put?" 

Women think it their right to abuse a 
man and receive nothing but chivalry in re- 
turn. 

The old horse shook his head defiantly, 
and I felt encouraged. We had entered a 
good country for travelling and at last came 
into something that was meant evidently for a 
road, but it very much more resembled a gully 
washed out by the rains. It led in the right 
direction, and I followed it, despite my per- 
suasion that we were now in territory prac- 
tically occupied by the British, and were much 
more likely to meet them in the road than in 
the fields or forest. But I was tired of such 


Julia’s Revenge 119 

difficult travelling, and, being extremely anx- 
ious to rejoin Morgan, I chose the course 
which promised the best speed. 

Old Put carried the girl, and I walked on 
before, holding his bridle in my hand. I sank 
into a kind of walking doze — that is, I slept on 
my feet and with my feet moving. I was just 
conscious, but I knew that I could put my 
trust in Old Put and that he would warn me if 
she made any attempt to escape. Whether 
the girl was asleep or wide awake I knew not, 
for my brain was too tired and dull then to 
tell me, but, looking back once, she seemed to 
be awake. She had slept well in the hut, while 
only a short nap had fallen to me. 

We were in the darkest hours, those that 
stretch out their length between midnight and 
dawn, and I walked on over a dim and shad- 
owy world. Sometimes I was not conscious 
that my feet touched anything but air. This 
queer feeling that I was walking on nothing 
lasted for nearly an hour, and then my half- 
sleep took another phase. I came back to 
earth, and the red clay of the road took on for 
a while the colour of blood. The trees by the 


120 My Captive 

roadside raced past, rows of phantoms, hold- 
ing out withered arms and making gestures 
that I did not understand. Once the dead face 
of the man in the hut rose up out of the road 
and confronted me, but when I said, You 
were a murderer and worse, and compelled 
me to kill you,” and walked boldly at him he 
melted away like so much smoke, and I 
laughed aloud at such a poor kind of ghost 
that would run at the first fire. 

“ What on earth are you laughing at? ” 
demanded the girl from the horse’s back. 

I awoke with a jerk and replied: 

‘‘ At your gratitude.” 

But I was on the verge of sleep again in 
five minutes, and the trees and the hills and 
the bushes were playing new tricks with me. 
The bushes were especially impudent, nodding 
to me and then to each other and then saying 
aloud: 

‘‘ Here he goes! Look at him — making a 
fool of himself and wasting his time over an 
English girl who hates him and all his coun- 
trymen! ” 

I picked up a stone, threw it at one exces- 


Julias Revenge 12 1 

sively impudent bush, and shouted at the top 
of my voice: 

It’s a lie!” 

For Heaven’s sake, Mr. Marcel,” cried 
the girl, what’s the matter? Have you a 
fever? ” 

I was dreaming,” I said confusedly, and 
I made no further explanation, for she asked 
no more, merely saying she hoped it was 
not worse than that. 

The trees and bushes did not cease to nod 
at me and waggle their heads at each other 
and make jeering remarks about me, but I 
paid no further attention to them, treating 
them with the lofty scorn of silence, which is 
supposed to be the most effective of all replies. 
The road led into hilly country, but I tramped 
on in my dream, becoming dimly conscious 
that it was growing light. Afar off there in 
the east, just where the sky touched the earth, 
was a bar of light. As I looked it broadened 
and began to roll up like a great wave of mol- 
ten silver. On the horizon the hills and trees 
rose out of the darkness. 

Old Put turned his face to the daylight 


122 My Captive 

and whinnied approval. An answering whin- 
ny came as twenty cavalrymen galloped 
around a hill, opening in two lines and closing 
up again, with us in the centre. 

“ Wake up! Wake up, man! Why, you’ll 
walk into a river or over a cliff if you sleep 
on in this way,” said one of the cavalrymen, 
leaning over and slapping me vigorously on 
the shoulder. 

I awoke and looked up at his bewhiskered 
English face and his bestriped English coat, 
and was filled with confusion and dismay. 

Why, he isn’t awake even yet! ” said the 
officer, with a laugh. “ Are you from Corn- 
wallis? ” 

His tone, though eager, was friendly, and 
the reason for his question flashed upon me. 
It was the red coat that I wore, the despera- 
do’s coat, which had served me one good turn 
already. 

“ Yes,” I said, '' my name’s Hinkle, and 
I’m from Cornwallis with an important mes- 
sage for Tarleton. I was pursued last night 
by a gang of rebels, who shot my horse, but 
I escaped them in the wood. An hour ago I 


123 


Julia’s Revenge 

overtook Miss Howard here, who also has an 
important despatch for Tarleton, and I am 
trying to pilot her and myself at the same time 
to him.” 

The officer raised his hat to Miss Howard 
and regarded her with open admiration. 

Your bravery and loyalty equal your 
beauty, Miss Howard,” he said. England 
can never suffer when we have such as you. 
Don’t you remember me? I’m Lieutenant 
George Cuthbert, and I had the honour of an 
introduction to you at Lord Cornwallis’s ball 
in Charleston some months ago.” 

Indeed I do,” she replied in a tone of rec- 
ognition, “ and I hope that we shall meet 
again soon under such peaceful circum- 
stances, but now I must hasten on, for my 
message will not wait, and so must this kind 
soldier, who has been such an assistance and 
protection to me. Can you direct us by the 
best road to Tarleton? ” 

“ Keep straight in the way you are going,” 
replied the officer, and if you hurry you 
ought to overtake Tarleton before noon. 
Have no fear of the rebels. Tarleton is driv- 


9 


124 My Captive 

ing them all ahead of him, except one small 
party to the south of here, for which we are 
looking. I’d give you an escort into Tarle- 
ton’s camp, but I need all my troopers for 
the task I have in hand, and my orders are 
strict.” 

“ I thank you for your courtesy and infor- 
mation, Lieutenant Cuthbert,” she replied, 
and I hope that we shall meet again soon in 
Charleston when all these rebels are taken.” 

“And that will not be long, Miss How- 
ard,” he said with a gallant bow. 

He gave the word to his troopers, and 
they galloped on. 

During this ordeal the behaviour of Old 
Put was something wonderful to see. Though 
he hated a redcoat as a cat hates a snake, he 
seemed to understand that he had a part to 
act and that he must act it well. All his true 
character disappeared. He was a shambling, 
drooping horse, with his head down and ready 
to submit to anything; just an ordinary, op- 
pressed British horse of the lower classes, not 
a proud-spirited American horse, conscious of 
the Declaration of Independence and the truth 


125 


Julia’s Revenge 

that all men and horses are born free and 
equal. 

But when the last of the British troops 
disappeared around the hill and their gallop 
sank into a mere echo, Old Put resumed his 
former and true character — his figure ex- 
panded, he held up his head once more. He 
was the true patriot, equal to all. I was glad 
to see the change, for that was the character 
in which I liked him best. 

We went on for a long time in silence, bar- 
ring a request from the girl that I ride and 
let her walk in my place. I declined abruptly, 
saying I was a cavalryman, with such few op- 
portunities for walking that I intended to 
enjoy one when I had it. 

The sun, following the new light in the 
east, appeared above the hills. The far crests 
and forests flamed with red gold, and we 
trod silently on in the shining light of the 
morning. 

“ Why did you not take your opportu- 
nity,” I asked at length, '' and return to your 
own people? Why did you not tell them back 
there who and what I was? ” 


126 My Captive 

She remained silent, and I looked back 
at her. 

Julia,’' I said, and she did not seem to 
notice that I called her by her first name again 
despite her command, why did you not tell 
them who I was and let them take me a pris- 
oner? ” 

“ I have called you a rebel with a noose 
around your neck, and it is true. The noose 
is always there, and it was pressing very close 
at that moment. For you to have been 
taken a prisoner then meant your death. 
I could have seized the chance of returning 
to my own people then only by hanging 
you.” 

“ How? I do not understand you.” 

'' Look at the red coat you wear. ‘ A 
spy!’ says Tarleton, who knows no mercy. 
‘ Hang him at once! ’ and you are hanged.” 

I had forgotten the coat, which, having 
served me well twice, might serve me very ill 
the third time. 

I must get rid of this coat soon,” I said. 
Then I added as an afterthought: But what 
is it to you were I hanged? It would be only 


127 


Julia’s Revenge 

one more wicked rebel meeting the fate that 
he deserves. Why should you put yourself to 
trouble for me? ’’ 

I looked back over my shoulder, though I 
may not have had the appearance of looking. 
I saw a flush as of the morning that was 
around us overspread her face, and she gazed 
afar over my head, her eyes shining with some- 
thing I had not seen there before. I asked her 
no more, but the morning continued to grow 
into a splendour and radiance passing all pre- 
vious knowledge of mine. 

The sun crept up, and the light reached all 
the earth, west as well as east. We were 
still in the red-clay road, winding among lone 
hills and deserted fields and patches of primi- 
tive forests. We came to a brook of cool, 
clear water, babbling over the stones. 

‘‘ Here we rest,” I said, and eat break- 
fast. Jump down, Julia.” 

She sprang down, and all three drank at 
the brook — Julia, Old Put, and I. Then we 
ate the remains of our provisions, while the 
horse found some tender stems of grass by the 
brookside. 


128 My Captive 

I think we had better leave the road 
now/’ I said, “ for this is the enemy’s country, 
and I do not want to meet any more of 
Tarleton’s men.” 

It was my purpose to make a circuit 
around Tarleton and join Morgan, and she 
made no objection, but suggested that she 
walk with me. 

‘‘ I am tired of riding,” she said, and it 
will be good for the horse too.” 

I threw the bridle-reins over Old Put’s 
head, told him to follow us, and we started on 
our great curve around Tarleton. Being a 
Charleston man, I knew very little of that part 
of the country, but in my campaigning with 
Greene and Morgan I had obtained some idea 
of the lay of the land, and I was sure of the 
general course I ought to follow. Besides, I 
felt very good, and I was full of enthusiasm. 
But little of the country had been cultivated, 
and as the forest was not dense there was 
nothing to stay our progress. We marched 
steadily on, and what impressed us most was 
the desolation of the land. But thinly peo- 
pled in the first place, everybody here, as in 


129 


Julia’s Revenge 

the country through which we travelled the 
day previous, had fled before the advance of 
the armies. We passed two abandoned cabins 
in the scanty fields, but saw no other sign of 
human habitation. Yet it did not sadden me. 
The sunshine was beautiful, and the old world 
was fresh and young. 

In a few years, Julia,” I said, when the 
last of Tarleton’s raiders is sent across the 
sea or to his final home, and we win our 
freedom, all this will be peaceful and popu- 
lated.” 

She said nothing — nothing about the val- 
our of the English and the speedy destruc- 
tion of the rebels — but looked abroad over the 
country with kindling eyes. It was fair to see, 
even in winter, with its rolling hills and slop- 
ing valleys and streams of sparkling water, a 
fit place for the growth of a noble race of free- 
men. But just then it was the most unhappy 
part of all our continent. Neither man nor 
woman could expect mercy where Tarleton’s 
raiders came, and all the books will tell you — 
and tell you rightly — that the war was more 
ferocious in the South than in the North, and 


130 


My Captive 

most ferocious of all on the soil of South Caro* 
lina. Where partisan bands ravage and fight, 
and the people of the soil themselves are set 
and embittered against each other, then war 
is seen at its worst. 


CHAPTER IX 


TWO AND A HORSE 

We travelled all the day, the crisp air 
blowing in our faces and the winter sunshine 
falling on our heads. My good spirits did not 
depart, and I could see no signs of gloom on 
the girl's countenance. Clearly she was bear- 
ing up well, and I took it to be an evidence 
of fine sense. Resignation is a great thing, 
though it is often difficult to have it. 

We passed two or three cabins, but as be- 
fore they were abandoned, the inhabitants 
fleeing to the mountains for shelter from the 
fierce partisan bands that ravaged in the name 
of either side. I felt a sudden access of pity 
when we stopped about the noon hour before 
one of these lonely little houses and ate our 
scanty dinner. I had noticed a child’s rude 
toy — probably made by the father’s own hand 
— lying in the grass before the doorstep, no 
doubt dropped in their hasty flight, and the 


132 


My Captive 

sight moved me more than anything else that 
met my eye. Miss Howard did not see it, and 
I did not intend to point it out to her. But 
she heard me. 

“ Why do you sigh? ’’ she asked. 

‘‘ I was lamenting the war,” I replied. 

“ You began it,” she said quickly. 

‘‘ I don’t know about that,” I replied, and 
besides there was the matter of the tea.” 

“ What’s a few pounds of tea? ” 

It wasn’t the tea so much as the stamp 
on it.” 

‘‘ How much was your share of the 
stamp? ” 

“ I didn’t know that you wished to teach 
me mathematics,” I said. ‘‘ We’re talking of 
different things; you’ve got pennies in mind, 
but I’ve got principles.” 

I sighed again, this time with satisfaction, 
and expected to see her crushed. But she 
looked scornful. 

That’s the last refuge of a man,” she 
said. A woman speaks from her feelings 
and acts accordingly; a man talks glibly of his 
principles and does something else.” 


Two and a Horse 


133 


‘‘ What principle have I violated? ” 

You were born a subject of King 
George, and here you are fighting against 
him.’’ 

But that stamp on the can of tea? ” 

“We pay bigger stamps in England, and 
because you provincials have a little one you 
choose to fight.” 

“ Now you have struck the best reason 
why we fight.” 

“ What is it? ” she asked, and she looked 
at me wonderingly. 

“You call us provincials, and we shall 
have to beat you to show you that we are 
not.” 

She was silent and thoughtful for a mo- 
ment or two. Then she said: 

“ I believe you are partly right. Still, 
Mr. Marcel, I can’t afford to condone your 
great faults on that account.” 

“ I don’t see why you choose to use me as 
a personal illustration,” I said. 

I felt injured. 

“ There is nothing else convenient, and it 
is the best use to which I can put you. Per- 


134 


My Captive 

haps I was wrong when I didn’t betray you to 
that British officer back there.” 

I did not say anything, but I saw a wicked 
little flash in the corner of her left eye, and I 
was reassured. Then I put old Put’s bridle 
over his head and we went on again, our prog- 
ress continuing through the afternoon without 
halt or hindrance. Sometimes the girl rode 
and at other times she walked beside me, while 
Old Put looked upon us benignly. But I no- 
ticed that she was more quiet than in the 
morning, having much less to say. She 
seemed, too, to be thoughtful, as if a weight 
lay upon her mind. This I did not think to 
be fitting in a captive of mine, more or less 
upon terms of friendship with her captor, so 
I spoke to her about it. 

‘‘ Why are you so silent. Miss Howard? ” 
I asked. 

“ I was thinking,” she replied. 

“ Of what? ” 

“ Of my duty. But you cannot under- 
stand. That, I suppose, is a subject which 
never troubles a rebel like you.” 

Again I felt injured. 


Two and a Horse 


135 


‘‘ Miss Howard/’ I asked, why do you 
always insist that we rebels are without con- 
sciences? ” 

Because if you had them you would not 
be rebels.” 

“ But we didn’t have a good king.” 

“ Oh, well, there are worse. Besides, your 
king was just as good as our king.” 

Which was true. Yet I wondered why she 
returned to the subject so often, when for 
some time previous she had never referred to 
it at all. I fell to studying her as she walked 
beside me. I am no mean judge of beauty — 
it is part of my South Carolina birthright — 
and I liked this tall English girl, so strong 
and vigorous. I liked her yellow hair, every 
thread of which seemed to be the melted 
strand of a King George guinea, and I liked 
her blue eyes and fair skin. When fair women 
are beautiful they are truly beautiful. 

Again I say that I know beauty when I 
see it, and now that I had an opportunity to 
observe her well I did not have to be told that 
she was one for whom men would go far. I 
was glad, too, that my girl captive, since I 


136 My Captive 

was compelled to take one, was handsome. I 
did not want to be marching across South 
Carolina with an ugly woman. I looked at 
her again. Truly she was most fair — but that 
too had its dangers. 

On we went. Still the same lonely coun- 
try. Still the same rolling hills, and leaping 
brooks of clear water, still the same dead 
foliage of winter, gilded a golden brown by 
the sunshine, poured now in a flood upon the 
earth. We passed one or two clearings, but 
they were mere islands in the wilderness. All 
else looked as primitive and savage as if Puri- 
tan and cavalier had never landed. 

The afternoon waned, brown shadows 
gathered in the east, the red sun glowed in the 
west, and the night chill fell. The girl looked 
inquiringly at me. 

Where shall we camp? ’’ she asked. 

“ I do not know,” I replied. 

But you ought to know,” she said, ‘‘ you 
are the commander of this expedition and I 
am a mere prisoner. Now if the conditions 
were reversed and we were immy country, and 
I the captor, I should not hesitate.” 


Two and a Horse 137 

Oh, no, you would not hesitate if you 
were in England, where there is a house every 
forty rods; you would merely take a step or 
two, knock at the door of an inn, turn me over 
to the horse-boys, and there’s an end to your 
troubles. That’s the reason you English 
never understand us. You don’t take into ac- 
count the difference in circumstances.” 

But we are learning. Besides, we under- 
stand you better than anybody else does. We 
are your kinsmen and kinswomen, and you 
can’t help it. You may hate us more than you 
do others, but at the same time you like us 
more. Oh, you’ll come around.” 

She looked at me with such a patronizing 
air of confidence that I was quite taken 
aback. But this discussion was not bring- 
ing us any nearer to a night’s lodging, and 
I said so. 

“ Find a place,” she replied. “ I need it, 
and I am waiting.” 

Since she assumed that air with me I de- 
cided to fall back upon my authority as a 
captor. 

“ I am not sure that we shall stop,” I said 


138 My Captive 

in an indifferent tone. ‘‘ I may conclude to 
travel all night. You know that I am most 
anxious to overtake Morgan.” 

‘‘ But I can’t go on! ” she cried. ‘‘ I am 
worn out! ” 

I whistled a little, but still maintained an 
indifferent air. 

That’s too bad,” I said, “ but, after all, I 
don’t think you can do us any harm now. 
You are so far away that you could never find 
Tarleton. As for me, I’m in a hurry; I must 
overtake Morgan, and since you are worn out 
I suppose that I shall have to leave you here. 
Come, Old Put, we’ll go.” 

Old Put arched his neck, gave the girl a 
regretful look as if he would say a sad fare- 
well, and led the way. 

She looked towards the forest in the West, 
where the tops of the trees were reddened by 
the last rays of the setting sun, and then she 
looked towards the East, where tree tops and 
all were lost in the enveloping darkness. I 
saw her face blanch. 

Oh, Mr. Marcel!” she cried. “Would 
you leave me alone in this awful wilderness? 


Two and a Horse 


139 


I’ll starve to death, if the wild animals don’t 
eat me up first! ” 

I did not open the subject,” I replied. 
“ It was you who said that you could not go 
on. My business, you know, can’t wait.” 

I’ll walk all night if only you won’t leave 
me! ” she cried. I’m not tired. I was but 
jesting when I said so. See how vigorous and 
fresh I am! ” 

She strode rapidly after Old Put and me, 
and in truth she made a fine pretence of vig- 
our, but I could see that the effort was painful 
and I was sorry for her. So we stopped and 
she stopped too. Then she looked around at 
the chilly wilderness, and shivered both with 
cold and fear. I saw her tremulous lip, and 
I was sorrier than ever for her. Old Put 
emitted a soft neigh which said as plain as 
day: ''You are too harsh with her, my mas- 
ter.” 

" I’ll promise to behave, if only you won’t 
leave me! ” she cried. 

" And you won’t call me a rebel any 
more? ” 

She hesitated. 

10 


HO My Captive 

"‘And you won’t call me a rebel any 
more? ” I repeated firmly. 

‘‘ I promise,” she replied at last. 

See that you keep your promise,” I said 
with some sternness. Still, she seemed to me 
a pathetic figure standing there, and we were 
comrades, too. We had passed through great 
dangers together, and she had spared me and 
remained my prisoner, when she might have 
given me to an ignominious death, at the same 
time releasing herself. I could not forget 
these things, and I was a little bit sorry that 
I had frightened her so. 

‘‘We shall hunt an inn at once. Miss How- 
ard,” I said. “ I’ve no doubt that we can find 
a most glorious one with a horde of servants 
eager to wait on us.” 

She laughed and her face glowed again. 
Clearly her mind was relieved. Then Old Put 
and I turned back to join her, and that brave 
horse, raising his head, neighed loudly, a neigh 
of satisfaction. 

I knew that I had Old Put’s approval, and 
it added to my content. 

“ Which way do we go? ” asked the girl. 


Two and a Horse 


141 

I think it will not be much farther/’ I 
replied. 

I had been through this immediate region 
twice before, and I knew its nature — an ex- 
panse of low hills, often with steep sides, and 
great hollows in the decaying rock that formed 
their base. In such a place as this I would 
make a shelter for Miss Howard. Meanwhile 
the last shreds of day were eaten up by the 
coming night. The sinking sun glowed for 
a moment in the west, and then the black 
veil hid it, darkness clothed the forest, 
and the wintry wind moaned among the 
dead leaves. The girl drew nearer to 
me, and Old Put rubbed his nose on my 
arm. 

Here we are at last. Miss Howard,” I 
cried. “ Behold our inn waiting for us! Look 
how the fire shines through the windows and 
see how the nimble servants run to take our 
baggage. Ho, coachman, let us down here! 
This is our stopping-place.” 

I see it all,” she said. And how good 
the waiting dinner smells — a tender chop of 
English mutton, white bread, and a little 


142 My Captive 

claret! We shall enjoy it, shall we not, Mr. 
Marcel? 

It was a great hollow — almost a cavern — 
in the rocky side of a hill, with its stony floor 
and its natural arch of stone overhead. All 
around the dead leaves of the forest lay in 
a carpet, inches thick. A man accustomed to 
rough life could easily find here wilderness 
s-helter for a woman. 

I made a hollow tube of my hands, and, 
putting them to my mouth, blew the coach- 
man’s horn. 

Will you alight, Miss Howard? ” I said 
with exaggerated politeness, ‘‘ and partake 
with me of the noble cheer that is awaiting 
us?” 

I thank you for your exceeding courtesy. 
My Lord Marcel, of Rags and Patches, and 
I think I shall,” she replied. 

I looked ruefully at my attire. The only 
sound garment about it was the English coat 
that I had taken. 

But it’s the best I have,” I said. 

It is gorgeous raiment for a reb ” 

Beware,” I cried, raising my finger. 


Two and a Horse 


143 


I was about to forget,” she said, putting 
her finger on her lips. 

I gathered fallen brushwood and built a 
heap in front of the hollow, to which I set fire 
with my punk and steel, making a gallant 
blaze; then I drew forth the small remains of 
our food and we ate. I was in a joyous mood. 
I do not know why it was, but despite the 
darkness I seemed to be dwelling in a sort of 
rose-coloured atmosphere. I suppose it was 
the escape from our great dangers. Old Put 
sympathized with me, as he whinnied gently 
several times. The girl was obedient and sub- 
dued. 

I was tired with the long day's travel and 
the loss of sleep the night before, and I chose 
to relax, leaning back luxuriously against a 
fallen log, and taking off my belt with its hol- 
sters and pistols, which I placed on the log 
beside me. Then I watched the fire glow 
and increase and the red coals fall, and the 
feeling of content and glorious ease grew 
stronger. The girl too was silent, her lips 
slightly parted — how red they were! — and the 
vivid light of the flames falling over her hair 


144 My Captive 

until it blazed in alternate streaks of scarlet 
and gold. 

I rose presently and gathered great arm- 
fuls of the dry leaves, which I spread on the 
stone floor of the hollow. The girl looked at 
me inquiringly, but I did not answer until the 
floor was covered. Then I said: 

“ For your bed.'' 

“You are very kind," she said, “for a 


“ Beware! " 

She smiled, and then I thought that she 
looked a trifle sad. 

“ Mr. Marcel," she said, “ I wish you were 
one of ours." 

“ I'd do almost anything to oblige you, 
Miss Howard," I replied, “ but I couldn't do 
that." 

“Oh, I haven't asked you; the British 
army is very select, you know," she said, and 
I saw that wicked little glint appear again 
away down in the corner of her left eye. 

“ I suppose that I haven't enough pedi- 
gree," I said; “but I've never wanted the 
chance. I could have chosen either side at 


Two and a Horse 


145 

the beginning of this war, and my judgment 
still confirms my choice.” 

She was silent, and I went a little dis- 
tance for more firewood. When I came back 
with my arm full of billets I found myself 
walking into the muzzle of one of my pistols, 
held in the firm hand of that English girl. 
The other, with the belt and holsters, lay 
across her lap. 

Conditions have changed, Mr. Marcel,” 
she said. 

So I observe.” 

I am about to put down an insurrec- 
tion.” 

‘‘ Not at all; you have just begun one.” 

Old Put, who was seeking winter herbage 
near by, looked up, and I saw his great black 
eyes wondering. ‘‘ Ah, my faithful horse, you 
have a right to wonder at such black ingrati- 
tude,” thought I. 

‘‘ What do you mean. Miss Howard? ” I 
asked. 

I think that I have been the captured 
long enough; now I wish to be the captor.” 

Very well,” I said, “ you have your wish; 


146 My Captive 

but at least let me put this wood on the fire. 
The night is cold, and we shall need it.’' 

Oh, I have no objection,” she replied. 

You are certainly right about the fire.” 

She shivered a little as the wind moaned 
about the hollow. 

I placed the billets carefully on the coals, 
meanwhile watching her out of the tail of my 
eye, and I saw her finger moving nervously on 
the trigger. I became scared. That had al- 
ways been a large pistol, but its muzzle sud- 
denly expanded to a diameter of six inches, 
and I could see in its throat a ball large 
enough for a twenty-four-pounder. 

“ For Heaven’s sake. Miss Howard,” I 
cried, “ don’t be careless ! That’s a hair-trig- 
ger! If you should accidentally press it you’d 
blow me clear over the North Carolina line.” 

She deflected the muzzle a little. 

There, is that better? ” she asked. 

‘‘ Oh, yes,” I answered, “ much better.” 
And I took a long, deep breath. I also wiped 
a small drop of perspiration from the centre of 
my forehead. 

Then I sat down on the far end of the log. 


Two and a Horse 


14; 


Now, Miss Howard,’’ I said, will you 
kindly tell me just what you have in mind? ” 
‘‘ I shall take you a prisoner back to 
Tarleton, and I shall compel you to lead the 
way. You see that I have the pistol.” 

That is to say, you have the pistol hand 
over me.” 

You put it well, Mr. Marcel.” 

‘‘When shall we start? Have you de- 
cided upon that point? ” 

“ Oh, yes, time presses. For Tarleton’s 
sake we cannot afford to stay here to-night. 
We must start now. Catch the horse at once, 
Mr. Marcel. For the present I will rule and 
you shall go on before.” 

“ Suppose I refuse to obey your orders? ” 
“ Then I shall have to shoot you. Don’t 
make me do it.” 

“ I refuse absolutely to move a step,” I 
said, and with a look of grim determination I 
folded my arms on my breast — I saw that the 
muzzle of the pistol pointed directly at a tree 
about six feet on my right. 

“ Mr. Marcel, why are you so obstinate? 
Obey orders.” 


148 My Captive 

My military honour forbids it. I cannot 
go to Tarleton. My country says to me, ‘ If 
you must die to serve me, then die.' " 

She looked distressed. 

‘‘ Mr. Marcel," she said, “ I don't want to 
shoot you. Please obey me." 

‘‘ I prefer death to obedience." 

The finger that lay on the trigger was 
trembling, and suddenly by a sort of nervous 
constriction it pressed it. There was a flash, 
a bang, and I heard a slug of lead imbed itself 
in the tree. She threw down the pistol with a 
cry of fright and ran towards me. 

“ O Mr. Marcel," she cried, ‘‘ have I 
hurt you? I didn't mean to shoot you! I 
really didn't! It was an accident! I didn't 
know that my finger was pressing the trigger 
so hard ! " 

When she saw me still sitting on the log 
bolt upright and unharmed she stopped sud- 
denly, and her face flamed into scarlet. Then 
she put her hands over her face, sat down on 
the log, and cried a little. I thought it best 
to say nothing at that moment, but I picked 
up the pistols and the belt, and after care- 


Two and a Horse 


149 


fully reloading the discharged weapon, Old 
Put all the while looking on, as if he didn’t 
understand — which doubtless he didn’t — put 
them back where they belonged. Then I 
said: 

“ I am glad you didn’t kill me.” 

‘‘ So am I,” she said. 


CHAPTER X 


SWORDS IN THE TWILIGHT 

The night settled down darker and colder 
than ever. I did not know what partisan 
bands might be roaming through this deso- 
late region, and another such misadventure as 
that with Crowder and his men was possible, 
but I did not let the fire die. It could send 
forth signals to enemies, but I felt that we 
must take the risk lest Miss Howard be 
chilled and prostrated. So I heaped the fallen 
wood higher and higher, and the flames 
roared and crackled, sending forth cheerful 
sparks. 

Old Put shivered, ceased his hunt for the 
withered grass, and drew near the coals. He 
gave Miss Howard an injured look, as if he 
did not understand her recent action, but 
when she rubbed his nose with a white hand 
his suspicious air gave way to one of com- 
plete content. The instinct of a good horse 
150 


Swords in the Twilight 151 

is more than human. Yet I felt that I should 
give utterance to speech. 

Beware, Put, of the hand that sought to 
slay your master,” I said. “ Oh, it was a big 
bullet! I ought to know. I put it in that 
pistol myself, and then to think that it was 
fired at me! I heard it whiz past my ear. It 
was poor aim. Put, or you would have no 
friend now.” 

The horse paid no attention at all to me, 
but went on rubbing his nose against Miss 
Howard’s hand. The traces of tears were 
gone from the girl’s face, and I saw that 
wicked little flash appear once more away 
down in the corner of her left eye. It seemed 
to be a characteristic of hers. 

Do you wish to leave a cruel master. 
Put,” she said, ‘‘ and come with me — a master 
who rides you hard and imagines strange 
things about other people who happen to be 
with him? ” 

The horse gave me a reproachful look, 
and I felt his rebuke. So I went for more 
fire-wood. Then I told Miss Howard that it 
was best for her to sleep while I watched. She 


152 My Captive 

protested, saying that she too could sit by 
the fire through the night, but I, of course, 
would not listen to her. At last she wrapped 
herself in her heavy cloak and went to sleep 
among the dry leaves in the hollow. She was 
well sheltered there, and I knew that she 
would not suffer. 

I walked back and forth a while, but my 
eyelids were so heavy that I could scarce keep 
them open. I had been under a long and 
hard strain and Nature was having her say. 
She was telling me that I must rest, and, 
above all, sleep. So I lay down close to the 
fire, still saying to myself that I would keep- 
my eyes open. The heat felt grateful, a pleas- 
ing warmth stole through me, and my mus- 
cles relaxed; the forest and the fire swam in 
a mist, and I rode luxuriously in a coach and 
four to slumberland. Then I dreamed a 
dream of a beautiful woman who bent over 
me and said some low words that I could not 
understand. 

When I awoke Old Put was nuzzling at 
my shoulder, the fire had burned low, and the 
hollow was empty. I sprang to my feet with 


Swords in the Twilight 153 

a cry followed by a great sense of abandon- 
merit and loneliness. Then Old Put and I 
gazed sorrowfully at each other. So she had 
left us — perhaps in a moment of desperate re- 
solve — while we trusted her and slept! 

“ I was right at the first, Put, when I told 
you to put no faith in woman,” I said. 

I reflected that when man falls into wom- 
an’s snares he falls open-eyed — that is, he was 
open-eyed in the beginning — which makes 
him a still bigger fool. 

I thought a little. My news should go at 
once to Morgan, but I could not forget my 
comrade of such dangers. She could never 
find her way back to Tarleton on foot and 
without a guide. Then she might meet an- 
other such band as Crowder’s — perhaps that 
very band. I shuddered. Duty and some- 
thing else were having a great struggle in my 
mind. But I took my resolve. 

“ Put,” I said to my horse, duty is great 
and must not be denied, but it can be made 
to wait.” 

Then we turned back and began to seek 
Miss Howard. I was sure that she would at- 


154 


My Captive 

tempt to retrace our path of the day before. 
What other road could she, a lone girl, take? 
I wondered that she had the courage to make 
such an attempt, but I supposed that the feel- 
ing of loyalty to her king, so strong in her, 
drove her on. Truly, loyalty can be made 
into a very wide cloak. 

I did not believe that she had been gone 
long. She would not have dared to leave be- 
fore the first touch of dawn, and the day was 
not yet old. The west was still gray though 
the east was blazing with the sunrise, and as 
we went, the rest of the world swam up from 
its night bath into the full glow of light. The 
trees and bushes gleamed in the white frost, 
and the crisp air entered my blood like a 
stimulant. 

We shall find her. Put; we shall find 
her,’’ I said, and she shall go with us to 
Morgan.” 

He neighed approvingly, and, springing 
upon his back, I rode in a canter, retracing 
our path of the day before. I soon reached 
the crest of a rather high hill, and sitting there 
on Old Put, I scrutinized the horizon on all 


Swords in the Twilight 155 

sides. But I saw nowhere the sign of a human 
being, and my hopes fell a little. Then I had 
another little struggle with duty, but I quick- 
ly ended it in the same way as before. She 
too bore news, but hers was for Tarleton, and 
it was my part to see that she did not deliver 
it. So I continued in my chosen course. 

I had an abiding faith that she would keep 
in the road, or rather path, lest she lose herself 
in the wilderness. She was used to the park- 
like country of England, where all is plain 
for the traveller, and here our wild hills and 
great forest would terrify her. 

I hastened my pace. My fear was still of 
Crowder or others like him. If only I could 
find her first! The thought made me urge 
Old Put into a gallop. He was nothing loath. 
It may be that in his horse heart he felt the 
same fear. 

We reached the crest of another hill, and 
there was the same view, desolation and lone- 
liness, only the frosty white world was now 
turning yellow in the sunlight. Hills and 
forests seemed to swim in a golden haze. I 
gave the rein to Old Put again and we gal- 
n 


156 


My Captive 

loped on, going mile after mile and still find- 
ing ourselves alone. 

I examined the way as I went, and once 
I thought I saw the traces of light foot- 
steps, but I was not sure. Higher rose the 
sun, and the earth was still wrapped in a gold- 
en veil, but I had no time for its beauty. My 
fears grew. Perhaps the girl wandered into 
the forest and was lost, or perhaps she had 
been taken already by one of the wild and 
lawless bands. 

When I had travelled several hours I con- 
cluded that it was useless to continue in that 
way. The girl on foot could not be ahead of 
me. Doubtless she had turned aside in the 
woods to let me pass. So I rode back, and 
presently I made a discovery which increased 
all my fears. A number of horsemen had rid- 
den from the woods, and, turning into the 
path, were now going my way. There were 
the footprints as plain as day, and as the num- 
ber seemed to be about the same as those of 
Crowder's band I dreaded lest in truth it was 
this reckless outlaw and his wild followers. 

I rode more slowly now. It was not well 


Swords in the Twilight 157 

to walk blindfolded into a trap — not well for 
the sake of Miss Howard, Morgan, and my- 
self. Old Put uttered a low neigh as if he 
too suspected trouble, and then we advanced 
in silence. The hoof-prints after a while 
turned aside and entered the forest, and I was 
surer than ever that they marked the passage 
of Crowder and his band. It was more than 
likely that the man, burning with desire to 
recapture us, would follow, and his judgment 
would tell him that we were fleeing towards 
Morgan. 

When we entered the woods I gave Old 
Put his head, trusting that his sense of smell 
or instinct would enable him to take me in the 
right path. And so it did. About the mid- 
dle of the afternoon I thought I heard voices, 
and slipping from the horse’s back I crept 
through the bushes in the direction of the 
sound. 

My fears were realized. It was Crowder 
and his men, and among them was Miss How- 
ard, a captive. They had met her, so I knew, 
in her rash flight, and they had nothing to do 
but pick her up and bring her with them. 


158 


My Captive 

Never was a prize taken more easily. She 
was sitting now on a log, her face downcast, 
her whole attitude expressing despair. Crow- 
der, on the contrary, looked triumphant, and 
I judged that everything bad in the man’s na- 
ture had come to the surface. The girl had 
good cause now to pray for a rebel. 

I lay for a while in the bushes in the most 
painful uncertainty. I was glad that I had 
come back, glad that I had postponed 
'' duty ” for a little; but yet I did not see how 
I might take Miss Howard from the hands of 
these men. I could not attack so many with 
any hope of success, and I could think of 
nothing to do but to wait. 

I crept back among the bushes to my 
horse, and there where the underbrush was 
thickest we stood for a while, still within hear- 
ing of the men, who, seeming to have no fear 
of interference, made a great deal of noise. 

I think it was about an hour that I waited, 
and I remember no hour of greater torture in 
my life. Then I was startled by the sound of 
hoof-beats coming in my direction. I moved 
a little to one side, keeping my horse and my- 


Swords in the Twilight 159 

self screened by the thicket. I could give 
these sounds but one meaning — Crowder and 
his men were on the march again. But I still 
saw above the bushes the glow of his camp- 
fire, and from that point came the faint mur- 
mur of voices. 

The noise of the hoof-beats approached, 
and then the most of Crowder’s men rode past 
me. I counted them, and all were there save 
Crowder and one other. The girl, too, was 
missing, and I could not doubt that the three 
were still by the camp-fire. I wondered what 
this movement meant, but I prudently waited 
to see. 

The men rode on through the bushes and 
into the open; they did not stop there, but 
continued at a steady gait, their figures be- 
coming smaller and smaller until at last I 
saw them on the top of a distant hill. The 
sun was low in the west behind them, and 
they hovered there a moment, so many black 
lines against the red disk. Then they passed 
over and were lost to sight. 

My heart throbbed with joy. These men 
had been sent on some expedition, probably 


i6o My Captive 

to be gone for hours, if not all night, leaving 
Crowder and another alone with the girl. 

One is forced in troublous times to decide 
quickly, and I did not hesitate now. It would 
be strange if in a desperate cause and with 
great motives I could not have a fair chance 
with two men. Moreover, the advantage of 
surprise would be on my side. I looked care- 
fully to my pistols and sword, and then leav- 
ing the horse, crept again towards the camp- 
fire. 

The girl was still sitting on a log in an un- 
changed attitude of despair, and I felt a great 
pity for her. Crowder hovered near her, and 
the other man, a low-browed fellow, lay by 
the fire. I paused where my body was still 
hid by the bushes and raised my pistol to take 
aim at Crowder. Pistols are uncertain except 
at very short range, but I believed that with 
care I could hit him. He was a black-hearted 
villain, and he deserved such a death. I 
looked down the barrel and drew the sight on 
his left temple, but at that moment and by 
a curious chance he shifted his position. I 
moved the pistol muzzle, too, and then I 


Swords in the Twilight i6i 

found that I was looking directly into Miss 
Howard’s face, and not Crowder’s. He was 
on the far side of her. I lowered my weapon 
until he should come in range again, and I 
heard him speak to her. 

‘‘ It was obliging of you. Miss Howard,” 
he said, “ to leave that infernal rebel and come 
back to us.” 

She did not raise her head nor did she an- 
swer. 

“ You had enough of him and now you 
choose better company — mine, you know,” he 
said with a leer. 

She raised her head now, and I saw an in- 
dignant flush on her face. Her eyes sparkled 
too. 

“ You would not dare to talk so before 
him, rebel as he is,” she said. 

“Oho!” cried Crowder. “It’s a pretty 
bird that can sing when it wants to. So she 
regrets her rebel already, does she? Won’t I 
do as well as he does? I’m as big as he is, 
and I know that he isn’t half such a beauty as 
I am — is he. Derrick? ” 

“ No, captain,” replied Derrick, the man 


i 62 My Captive 

sitting by the fire, stretching his mouth in a 
grin. “ He’d never take the prize in a beauty 
show if you entered at the same time.” 

Crowder thrust his thumbs in the arm- 
holes of his vest and swaggered back and 
forth before the fire. There was a curious sort 
of dark fascination about the man, and doubt- 
less he had been a crusher of hearts among 
women of his own type. He was of great size 
and as lithe as a panther. But he was then 
in one of his most villainous moods, and when 
I saw the face that he bent upon Miss How- 
ard I raised my pistol again. 

I could not pull the trigger. Much as this 
man deserved death, and great as was the 
need of Miss Howard, I was unable to shoot 
him or any one from ambush. My heart re- 
coiled from the deed with an immeasurable 
repugnance. I hesitated, and shifted my po- 
sition a little, not knowing what to do. My 
foot came down on a piece of dead wood, and 
it broke with a snap. 

The man Derrick, whose face was turned 
in my direction, sprang to his feet, and I, 
knowing that concealment was now vain, also 


Swords in the Twilight 163 

leaped up. Derrick fired at me with his rifle, 
the bullet whistling unpleasantly near my ear, 
and in return I gave him a pistol-ball that 
dropped him. 

I fired my second pistol at Crowder, but 
the bullet missed, and drawing my sword I 
ran in. He, too, missed with his pistol, and 
also drew a sword that he carried at his side, 
as a badge of leadership, I thought, for I did 
not take him to be a swordsman. But I was 
mistaken, as he faced me with a laugh that ex- 
pressed confidence and triumph. He was in 
truth a swordsman. 

The girl uttered a cry when she saw me, 
half raised up from the log, and then sank 
back again, remaining there, her face white 
and her gleaming eyes fixed upon us with 
an intentness like that of a fascinated child. 

“ So it is our fine rebel, again? said 
Crowder. ‘‘ I have the girl now, and Tm glad 
that youVe come. I can make my job com- 
plete.’^ 

His whole manner showed expectation of 
an easy triumph and I was willing to humour 
him a little. 


164 


My Captive 

“ The game is between us two,” I said. 
'' The better man wins.” 

“And she goes to the conqueror,” he 
said, nodding towards Miss Howard. “ I am 
glad of it because she pleases me. Bid her 
farewell, you rebel.” 

“ It is true I am a rebel,” I said, “ but I 
do not allow any one to call me so. You shall 
pay for it, Mr. Crowder.” 

For answer he flourished his sword about 
his head, making the blade whistle. He was a 
grandiloquent fellow, but I knew by his grasp 
upon the hilt that he understood the weapon. 
Also he was much larger than I. 

The sun was just setting, and we stood in 
its last glow. Poised on the edge of the hori- 
zon, it looked at us with its great red eye, as 
we stood there, two men, each bent upon hav- 
ing the other’s life. I do not think that I am 
bloodthirsty, but his insults and insinuations, 
to which the girl had been compelled to 
listen, filled me with rage; moreover, all 
other things aside, I could not but choose 
what he chose, and that was his life or 


mine. 


Swords in the Twilight 165 

On guard! ” he said, and he thrust at me 
with his heavy sword. 

I caught his weapon upon my lighter 
blade and turned the thrust aside. 

He laughed in glee and shook his black 
hair. 

“ You know the sword,” he said. 

“ A little.” 

‘‘ So much the better.” 

I glanced at the girl. Her eyes were still 
upon us, as if she could not take them away, 
and her figure seemed to have lost the power 
of movement. Her yellow hair was like flame 
in the sunset glow. I also saw in her eyes a 
great fear. Yet I felt none myself. Not in 
vain, I believed, had I been called the finest 
swordsman in all the Northern army, and I 
had been victor there too over the first blades 
of France, the home of swordsmen. 

“On guard!” he cried again in joyous 
tones, and thrust straight at my heart. I 
turned the blade aside as before, but I knew 
then by the feel of his steel against mine that 
his was a powerful wrist, and his style was 
that of a master. I would need all my skill, 


i66 My Captive 

and I felt my blood leap with the thrill of con- 
flict. 

‘‘ On your guard, too, Captain Crow- 
der!” I cried, and I thrust so suddenly that 
only the turn of a hair saved him. His eyes 
sparkled. 

“ It is more than a little that you know the 
sword, Mr. Rebel,” he said, “ and again I say 
so much the better.” 

“ As you will. Touched! ” 

My blade cut the cloth of his coat. 

“ Thrust for thrust! ” he cried. 

The point of his sword slipped through my 
sleeve. 

Then we closed, and for a while neither 
spoke, nothing being heard but our heavy 
breathing, the tread of feet upon the leaves, 
and the sharp ring of steel against steel. I 
gave silent thanks to myself that my blade 
was of trusty metal, as I knew now that I 
had before me a swordsman of the first de- 
gree, a man who brought to great skill the 
aid of vast strength. I felt a curious pride 
presently when I saw a thin red line appear 
across his wrist. My sword had flicked him 


Swords in the Twilight 167 

as it passed, barely cutting the skin. He 
seemed not to notice it, and the next moment 
his blade went through my clothing and I felt 
its cold edge against my side. It was a nar- 
row escape and I became cautious. 

I still felt the sunset glow on my face, and 
I saw it on his. The red light exaggerated his 
features, giving to them a look of malignant 
ferocity. But he laughed. He yet seemed to 
have no fear of the result. We fell apart a 
few moments later and each drew a deep 
breath. 

“ You fight well, Mr. Rebel,” he said. 

I repeat that I do not allow any one to 
call me a rebel.” 

I’m willing to pay the price if you can 
collect it.” 

The girl did not stir. The sunset glow 
now failed to reach her, but I saw her eyes 
shining through the dusk. The dead eyes 
of the dead man beside me stared up, but 
neither Crowder nor I took notice. 

‘‘ Are you ready again? ” I asked. ‘‘ I do 
not wish to attack a tired man.” 

He sprang forward and lunged at me 


1 68 My Captive 

fiercely. But I turned his blade aside and 
flicked him across the wrist. 

“ Have a care,” I said; “ that was rash, 
and remember a lady is looking on.” 

He shut his teeth and the smile went out 
of his eyes. I could read them as if I had a 
printed page before me. He meant now to 
end it. He had dallied long enough, and he 
would show me his best. I felt my muscles 
grow tense, and I waited ready for his coming. 

He pressed me now with all his strength 
and skill. I had never before met a swords- 
man more expert, and none so strong. He 
knew all the tricks of all the schools, French, 
English, Prussian, Austrian — where he 
learned them I cannot guess — and there was 
none that he did not try. I felt myself slowly 
giving ground, and I saw the look of triumph, 
gone a while from his face, come back again. 
I saw, too, the face of the girl white now with 
fear, and just beyond her stood a great horse 
looking at us with eyes of wonder. 

You fight well, rebel, but not well 
enough,” said Crowder. 

‘‘ It is to be seen,” I said. 


Swords in the Twilight 169 

His sword was a line of light before me, 
but his heavy breathing was growing heavier, 
and I was not yet tired. His blade slipped 
once more through my coat, and when it 
came back a drop of blood gleamed redly 
on it. 

“ There will be more to come next time,” 
he said. 

There will be no next time,” I replied. 

For answer, he thrust savagely at me, but 
I was gathering all my strength anew, and I 
turned his blade aside. Then I pressed him 
back. He in his turn was forced to give 
ground, and his look of triumph again died. 
The rim of the sun just showed on the hori- 
zon, and the twilight was falling in the forest. 
Crowder’s face darkened, but I could yet see 
his eyes plainly, and I still read all his emo- 
tions there. There was surprise, alarm, and 
then terror. I judged that the man had fought 
many times before, and always had been the 
victor. 

I pressed him back farther. The twilight 
deepened in the glade, but our swords flashed 
in lines of light, and I still read his eyes. I 


I/O My Captive 

stumbled slightly on a root. He slashed at 
me with a cry of joy, but my blade slipped 
under his and drew blood. 

‘‘ No wonder you fight well when she is 
waiting for you,’’ he said with a slight nod 
towards the girl. 

‘‘ That remark may cost you your life,” I 
said. I hoped that she did not hear him. It 
had been my plan as I drove him back to 
wound him seriously, but not to kill him, 
however much he deserved death. 

‘‘ You have not won yet,” he said. 

‘‘ But I win now,” I replied, and breaking 
down his guard I slashed him across the 
arm. 

He uttered a cry of pain and dropped his 
sword, while I, leaning over, wiped mine on 
the dry leaves. 

‘‘ Go now,” I said, “ I am done with 
you.” 

He picked up his weapon in an instant in 
his left hand and sprang at me like a tiger. 
I barely saved myself from his treacherous at- 
tack, leaping aside just in time. Even then 
I meant to give him only a disabling wound. 


Swords in the Twilight 171 

but he slipped slightly and the point of my 
weapon entering his heart he fell dead beside 
his dead comrade. 

Come,” I said to the girl, let us has- 
ten.” 

It was not so much the fear of pursuit, 
though that was a consideration, as it was the 
desire to get her away from those dead men 
that urged me on. 

'' O Mr. Marcel, I thank God that you 
came ! ” she exclaimed like one awakening 
from a dream. 

And that was all she said for some time. 

I hastily helped her upon Old Put, and we 
set off. The twilight turned into darkness, the 
trees became ghostly, and then were tipped 
with silver by-and-bye as the moon came out. 
It was a fine clear moon, and soon all the for- 
est was silver under its rays. Again I began 
to feel exhilaration. I was not wholly sorry 
now for what had happened. She had seen 
me fight, and I had been a victor before her. 
I could feel no remorse because of the two 
men who lay back there in the woods, and the 
death of Crowder was almost sure to stop the 


12 


172 My Captive 

pursuit even should his comrades return at 
an early hour. 

I said nothing, but I covertly watched 
Miss Howard, and I saw the colour return to 
her cheeks and the light to her eyes. Not 
even such scenes as those through which we 
had passed could daunt her long. Yet we 
went on for many hours before I spoke. At 
last I asked: 

Why did you run away? ” 

‘‘ Do you know, Mr. Marcel, I have been 
asking myself that question, and I have not 
found an answer.” 

I suppose that it was your feeling of loy- 
alty to England.” 

“ I suppose so.” 

‘‘ You will not try to run away again? ” 

I certainly will not.” 

This with emphasis. 

She did not speak again for an hour, and 
then she said quite suddenly: 

“ O Mr. Marcel, what a swordsman you 
are!” 


CHAPTER XI 


HARLEY HALL 

We went on through the maze of hills and 
valleys, all wild and desolate, and I looked in 
vain for a house. I did not wish the girl to 
spend another night in the open, and I felt 
worried when I found no shelter. 

I was walking now, leading the way, while 
she followed on Old Put, and when I glanced 
back once or twice I did not see my troubles 
reflected in her face. Much of her weariness 
seemed to have passed, and the vivid English 
roses were blooming again in her cheeks. 
Stray curls of yellow hair slipped from her cap 
and fell down the whitest neck in the world, 
lying there like gold on snow. Well, if I was 
burdened with a captive she was at least 
worth while. 

The day had passed its zenith. The 
blood-red sun, like a pirate ship, swam peace- 
fully in the sky’s blue sea. Afar on the dim 

173 


174 


My Captive 

horizon’s rim lay the frosty touch of winter, 
but around us the world glowed warm in the 
sunshine. I still searched wood and open, but 
beheld nothing save the peace of the forest. 
She saw my face as I looked for something 
that I did not find, and she said: 

The king is heir to a great estate; it is 
wild now, but what a land he will make of it 
when he needs it ! ” 

I have heard of heirs who were disin- 
herited,” I replied. 

So have I,” she said, '' but you have not 
known them.” 

‘‘ People are often too sure,” I replied. 
“ They ought to examine their own minds. I 
believe it was old Socrates who said, ‘ Know 
thyself.’ ” 

“ But he gave that advice only to 
men.” 

Indeed? And why did not he give it to 
women too? ” 

They do not need it.” 

I glanced back at her, but she met my 
look with an air of extreme confidence. She 
shook her head a little as if she were threaten- 


Harley Hall 175 

ing me, and the yellow curls quivered on her 
white neck. 

Don’t seek political arguments with me, 
Mr. Marcel,” she said, 

‘‘ Why not? ” 

** I begin to have a friendly feeling for you, 
and I don’t like to see you defeated so often.” 

She did not seem to be worried by any- 
thing whatever, but as for me, my troubles 
grew. I have my doubts whether the posi- 
tion of captor is more enviable than that of 
captive. I was still wasting time — though 
not of my own choice — and perhaps getting 
farther and farther from Morgan. Moreover, 
that pirate ship of a sun was going far over 
in the western heavens, preparing to hide be- 
hind the curve of the sea, as it were, and what 
was I to do with the girl? There was no 
cave or hollow here. 

We reached the crest of a ridge, and Old 
Put, raising his head, gave a neigh, soft and 
low, but full of triumph. His keen eye saw 
first. A faint spire seemingly made of silver 
mist rose above the distant trees. The girl’s 
eyes followed mine. 


176 


My Captive 

‘‘What is it?’’ she asked. 

“Smoke,” I replied, “perhaps from a 
camp-fire, perhaps /rom a house, but I should 
judge from the situation that it is the latter. 
Those trees are growing on just such a gentle 
hill as a man would choose for the site of 
his home.” 

“ And yet,” she said, “ I am suspicious of 
everybody.” 

“ Of everybody? ” I asked, and I looked at 
her reproachfully. 

“ Well, of everybody but you,” she replied 
grudgingly. 

“ We must take the risk,” I said. “ It may 
be your friends, or mine, or neither. This is 
a wild region, you know.” 

“ Mr. Marcel,” she replied, “ I am not 
afraid to follow wherever you may lead.” 

She wanted to mollify me, I dare say, and 
I accepted the attempt. It was my due. 

We started on at a brisker pace, cheered 
by the thought of shelter and perhaps a boun- 
teous table and good beds. It is astonish- 
ing how soon man becomes reconciled to the 
discomforts of civilization. Even Old Put 


1/7 


Harley Hall 

pricked up his ears and looked eagerly ahead, 
though by-and-bye he began to grow cau- 
tious and distrustful. 

That’s right, old horse,” I said. It’s 
well to be watchful, and your pose becomes 
you, but I’m sure that we’re not going into 
danger this time.” 

He gave no answer, merely wagging his 
head in silence. 

We turned into an old road, almost grown 
up in weeds, but nevertheless a road, once, at 
least. 

“It is a house! Look! I see the brick 
walls shining! ” exclaimed Miss Howard. 

A house it was beyond a doubt, and my 
prediction had proved correct. It stood on 
the crest of the hill which we had seen from 
afar, surrounded by noble poplar-trees planted 
at regular spaces, as if by the hand of man. 
There was a large lawn, but like the road it 
was choked with grass and weeds, and the 
fine iron fence surrounding it was rusted and 
partly thrown down. 

Nevertheless the house, despite its decay, 
shone for us with cheer and comfort. The 


178 My Captive 

rays of the dying sun lingered on the red 
brick walls and tinted them with vivid hues. 
The shutters were thrown back and the glass 
of the windows streamed with the western 
fire. 

“ It is inhabited,” said Miss Howard. 
“ There can be no doubt of it.” 

‘‘ Certainly it is inhabited,” I replied, con- 
tinuing our pleasantry of the night before. 
“ This, Miss Howard, is the Hotel Marcel. It 
is true that it sits far out in the wilderness 
and its guests are not many, but I shall see 
to your comfort while you stay.” 

I shall decline to stop unless I have for 
my dinner humming-birds' tongues, ortolan, 
and all the other things those gluttonous old 
Romans were so fond of,” she replied, and she 
laughed. 

Persiflage and laugh alike showed her re- 
lief, and I too felt many of my troubles take 
unto themselves the wings of the morning. 
Here, besides food and shelter, I might also 
find news of Morgan. 

It was in truth a place of most comfortable 
appearance, evidently the house of a man of 


179 


Harley Hall 

wealth and large outlook, a two-and-a-half 
story brick of solid structure with many out- 
buildings, and far back in the rear the hud- 
dled cabins that told of the slaves’ quarter. 
The mansion of a rich up-country planter, so I 
judged. 

As we approached, a man in the ordinary 
clothes of a South Carolina farmer came from 
behind the house and gazed at us, but this I 
knew could not be the owner. He looked too 
common. 

We came steadily on, the girl riding and 
I walking by her side. I was certain now 
that it was all right, reassured by the appear- 
ance of the man, staring at us with the ordi- 
nary curiosity of the rural districts. He was 
joined presently by another fellow similar in 
look, and I judged them to be labourers on 
the estate. The sound of some one singing 
behind the house came to our ears. All 
breathed of bucolic ease. 

“ Alight, Miss Howard,” I said, and par- 
take of the ease the Hotel Marcel offers.” 

I held out my hands. She took them and 
sprang lightly to the ground. Her touch 


i8o My Captive 

thrilled me so strangely that I was annoyed 
with myself and spoke gruffly to Old Put. 

''Why, Mr. Marcel!’’ she exclaimed. 
" Have you hurt yourself? ” 

" Yes,” I replied, " I stumbled, but it was 
only a trifle, and it’s over now.” 

I opened the iron gate and we entered the 
lawn, following a dilapidated brick walk to- 
wards the portico that adorned the centre of 
the house. Great double doors of oak, 
studded with brass nails, connected the por- 
tico with the house, and as we approached 
they opened, giving exit to a man whom I 
knew at once to be the master of the man- 
sion. 

The stranger was of distinguished appear- 
ance, having about him the indefinable air 
which comes from a knowledge of the best 
world and one’s own inborn sense of dignity. 
He was about thirty years of age, tall, light 
of complexion, and dressed in the fashionable 
costume of the day. I noticed particularly 
that his hair, tied in a queue, was powdered 
as finely as if he were a London dandy. 

"Ah, a lady and a gentleman!” he ex- 


i8i 


Harley Hall 

claimed, hastening forward with the most 
hospitable air in the world. “ You are my 
guests. It shall not be said that Harley Hall 
turned only closed doors to any one at such 
a time as this.’’ 

His accent showed cultivation, and I 
clearly saw that he was a man of breeding. 
I felt great relief to have fallen into such 
hands. 

“ We accept your hospitality,” I replied, 
before you can offer it to us twice, for we 
are indeed worn with a long journey.” 

His eyes rested for a moment on Miss 
Howard. It was a swift glance, but it was 
one of wonderful keenness, and the edge of it 
was admiration. 

Your wife, in truth, looks tired, though 
she keeps a brave face,” he said, ‘‘ but we 
have plenty of room there.” 

He turned away a moment to make a ges- 
ture towards his house, and then I beheld the 
red blood flushing Miss Howard’s whole face 
and even dyeing her neck. I saw in a flash 
our position and what construction could be 
placed upon it, a man and a woman roaming 


1 82 My Captive 

alone, save each other, through the wilder- 
ness. 

‘‘ Forgive me,” I said in a low tone, but 
we must accept it. It will not matter, because 
he will never see us again.” 

She did not say nay, but the deep red re- 
mained in her face. 

He called to one of the men whom we had 
seen watching our approach, and bade him 
take Old Put to the stable. 

‘‘ Give him plenty of oats and ten ears of 
corn,” he said. 

Then he looked inquiringly at me. I un- 
derstood. 

We rode farther than we thought,” I 
said. ‘‘ In fact, our journey required some 
haste, and my wife's horse unfortunately died 
of exhaustion.” 

‘‘That is bad,” he said; “you must be 
provided for in some way.” 

The hospitality of our South Carolina 
planters is unbounded, but the generous sym- 
pathy in his voice made me warm to him. 
Here, indeed, was a friend in need. Moreover, 
I did not forget the most important of my 


183 


Harley Hall 

errands. He might put me again on the trail 
of Morgan. He glanced once at my red coat, 
but asked no question about it. Fine breed- 
ing held him back, and I knew that whether 
English or American I might freely claim the 
shelter of his house. 

My name,” he said, as we entered the 
portico, is Sinclair Harley, and this is Har- 
ley Hall, which my father built out here on 
the skirts of the wilderness in * 46 , three years 
before I was born. I bid you and your lady 
welcome to it, Mr. — Mr. ” 

“ Wrenham, John Wrenham,” I said. “ I 
am from Charleston, though some time ago, 
and we are bound for Charlotte, in North 
Carolina.” 

He bowed to the lady and myself, and did 
not intimate a desire for further knowledge, 
nor did I vouchsafe any. It was a polite day, 
and those too were troublous times in which 
it had become a wise custom to talk but little 
of one’s self. 

I recalled his name, when he mentioned 
it, as that of a rich young planter whose father 
had gone far into what was the backwoods 


1 84 My Captive 

in his time and had built up a great estate. I 
had never met him, but he had a reputation 
for probity and firmness. Again I felt glad- 
ness because we were fallen into such good 
hands. 

“ I trust that you will accept my apologies 
for the look of my place,” he said. “ I have 
just returned to it after an absence of many 
months, and this being doubtful territory, I 
find that it has been plundered in my absence, 
probably by a very dangerous band of des- 
peradoes, led by one Flournoy. I believe 
they call themselves ‘ Regulators.’ ” 

I should think that with a dozen men 
you could hold this strong house against any 
number of them,” I said. 

‘‘ I dare say I could,” he replied carelessly, 
‘‘ but this is a particularly dangerous band. 
They have a very crafty leader in Flournoy, 
who has as his lieutenant a singularly bold 
fellow named Crowder.” 

I was startled a little at the mention of 
Crowder. I had believed all along that he 
was under the leadership of some one more 
cunning than himself. He was too reckless 


185 


Harley Hall 

by half, and I was sure his little force had 
been but a mere detachment from the main 
band. It was lucky that we had not run 
across the others, but now, behind these 
strong walls of brick, I felt that the girl was 
safe. 

We entered the house, and passed into a 
wide dark hall, equipped with massive furni- 
ture which I knew had been brought from 
England. On the walls were some old por- 
traits, but furniture, walls, portraits, and floors 
alike were covered with dust. Everything 
here, as on the lawn, showed neglect and 
decay. 

You see that my apologies were well 
timed,” he said, looking at us with a humor- 
ous eye. 

One need not apologize in time of war 
for such as this,” I replied. 

Miss Howard said nothing. She had be- 
come singularly silent, and when I looked at 
her once more that deep stain of red was still 
on brow and neck. Well, it was not my fault. 

One of the men who had gone on before 
threw open a door leading from the hall, and 


1 86 My Captive 

we entered a great apartment, evidently the 
drawing-room, where a most cheerful sight 
saluted our eyes. In the wide fire-place a fire 
of hickory logs was burning and blazing, while 
a pair of huge brass fire-dogs gleamed in the 
merry light. A grateful warmth and glow 
filled the air. 

The drawing-room was much of a piece 
with the hall, showing all the relics of ancient 
splendour. A thick carpet, torn and stained 
in places, covered the floor, and its deep tints 
reflected the ruddy glow of the fire. 

“ Light the candles, Perkins,” said Harley 
to the man, as he wheeled a cushioned chair 
in front of the fire for Miss Howard, “ and do 
you imitate me, Mr. Wrenham, and warm 
yourself. I can conceive how tired you both 
are. 

I sank info a chair and let my muscles re- 
lax. Miss Howard, too, leaned back in an 
attitude of ease, and spread out her hands 
to the fire. The man Perkins lighted the can- 
dles as he was bid, though there was little 
need of them, the great fire filling the room 
with its glow. 


187 


Harley Hall 

I glanced through the window and saw 
the sun sinking behind the desolate hills. The 
night was falling cold and dark, and the house 
was warm and kind. Harley read my 
thoughts in my face, for, smiling, he said: 

You arrived just in time, Mr. Wrenham. 
I am glad indeed that my house could afford 
shelter at such a moment.” 

Miss Howard was looking about her with 
an inquiring gaze, and I knew what she 
sought. It was the lady of the house — his 
wife, or his sister, or at least some female serv- 
ant — but Harley did not seemJ:o notice. The 
man, Perkins, went quietly fro;n the room at 
the low-spoken command of his master, but 
returned in a few minutes bearing on a waiter 
three glasses in which spoons clinked. 

Ordinarily I would not offer liquor to a 
lady, Mrs. Wrenham,” said Harley, but I 
think you should drink this, and I beg you to 
do so.” 

When we lifted our glasses he clinked his 
against mine and said: 

To your pleasant journey, Mr. Wren- 
ham.” 


13 


1 88 My Captive 

He was an agreeable man. There was a 
certain mellowness about his manners that I 
liked. Manners may not make the man, but 
they certainly furnish a very large contribu- 
tion, and for a casual acquaintance they are 
the best recommendation. 

Then I drank the whisky, which was of a 
high class — perhaps stored for twenty years 
in the cellars of Harley Hall — and the grate- 
ful glow that permeated the room permeated 
my system too. 

Don’t you find it lonely here, Mr. Har- 
ley? ” I asked. 

‘‘ No, not in ordinary times,” he replied. 

It’s a great plantation, twenty thousand 
acres or so — no credit to me though, it was 
my father who acquired it — and there is much 
to look after. Besides, the woods are full of 
game, large and small, and I am something of 
a sportsman. My father, too, left many good 
old books, still here in the cases, which I read 
now and then, though perhaps not as often 
as I ought.” 

Through a half-opened door I glanced into 
a room, evidently the library, and there I saw 


189 


Harley Hall 

a case of books gleaming through the glass, 
heavy and rich in their bindings of morocco 
and half calf. I had no doubt there were 
other such. 

And now, Mrs. Wrenham,’’ said Harley, 
“ as you are refreshed a little, doubtless you 
would like to retire to your room for a while. 
Here it is across the hall.’’ 

He pointed towards a closed door. 

'' And perhaps your husband would like to 
accompany you and rest also,” he said po- 
litely. 

He was not looking towards her, and he 
did not see what a brilliant hue of red over- 
spread her face, but I said hastily: 

Not at all, Mr. Harley; what my wife 
needs is to be alone. That will restore her 
strength.” 

‘‘ As you will,” he replied. ‘‘ I am the 
gainer, for then I shall have your company 
here by the fireside, and guests are none too 
common in these parts and these times to be 
neglected.” 

Julia rose to go, and he gave her his 


arm. 


igo My Captive 

Dinner will be ready in an hour,” he said, 
as she disappeared behind the door. 

When he came back he sank down in the 
chair that she had left and turned his face to 
the firelight. It was a fine face, smooth- 
shaven, high-browed, and intellectual. 

‘‘ These are dangerous times, Mr. Wren- 
ham,” he said, ‘‘ for a man to be travelling 
on long journeys with his wife and without 
a strong escort.” 

I flushed a little at his implied rebuke. 

Necessity is not a considerate master, 
Mr. Harley,” I replied, and in dangerous 
times one must risk dangers.” 

“ Don't infer that I meant to criticise 
you,” he said quickly. ‘‘ I was merely think- 
ing of that same stern necessity to which you 
allude. Suppose that we have our glasses 
filled again. You have travelled hard and 
long, and it will not hurt you.” 

I was not loath, and Perkins replenished 
the tray. Mr. Harley took a glass in his hand 
and looked meditatively at the golden bub- 
bles floating towards the brim. His face was 
very thoughtful. 


IQI 


Harley Hall 

‘‘ Mr. Wrenham,” he said, ‘‘ I envy you.’’ 

‘‘ Why so? ’’ I asked, somewhat surprised 
at his comment. You are a rich man, the 
owner of this magnificent estate, and I — I, 
for all you know, am but a mere wanderer 
about the earth without a shilling to my 
name.’’ 

“All that you say is true,” he replied. 
“ But you have something that I have not 
and which I want.” 

“ What is that? ” I asked, my surprise in- 
creasing. 

“ Love.” 

“ Love? ” 

“Yes, love; accomplished love. As you 
say, you may not have a shilling to your name, 
but you have what is worth far more than 
all the shillings in these thirteen colonies 
and Britain put together — a young and beau- 
tiful wife, a wife who I know is as good as she 
is beautiful, tender, devoted. Did I not see 
her glance hang upon you? Ah, man, man,' 
again I say I envy you! ” 

I looked at him curiously, but he did not 
seem to notice me, as he sat there, staring 


192 My Captive 

into the coals, the red firelight flickering over 
his fine features. 

‘‘ You asked me if I did not grow lonely 
here sometimes,” he resumed, and now he 
seemed to be talking to himself rather than 
to me, and I said that I did not, but I do. 
What I miss is a wife, young, beautiful and 
tender like yours, a wife whose morning kiss, 
as fresh as the dew and as pure, I might feel 
upon my lips, a wife whose voice like the soft 
tones of organ music I might hear through all 
the rooms of the house. Yes, Mr. Wrenham, 
I do get lonely at times.” 

He looked at me, and there was such 
melancholy in his eyes that I felt sorry for 
him. So much living alone is not good for 
people, and I felt myself at liberty to 
say so. 

But what can one do? ” he replied ear- 
nestly. ‘‘ I am not deeply stirred by this war. 
I do not care to fight in it. The Americans 
say that the English oppress them; it may be 
so, yet if the Americans win I have no doubt 
that they will oppress themselves quite as 
much.” 


Harley Hall 193 

‘‘ True, perhaps; yet it is a privilege worth 
fighting for/’ 

He laughed and sipped his liquor. 

“ That is so,” he replied. “ Man loves his 
delusions, and as he is happier with them per- 
haps he ought to have them.” 

Then he talked of other matters, leaving 
the war alone, and I found his conversation 
graceful and pleasing. The man Perkins 
came in and replenished the fire with more 
hickory logs, and the blaze was never per- 
mitted to die down. 

“ Has Mr. Wrenham’s horse been fed as I 
ordered, Perkins? ” asked Harley. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the man, ‘‘ and he was 
so hungry that after he finished up the ten 
ears of corn we gave him ten more.” 

‘‘ That was well done, Perkins,” said the 
master of Harley Hall, ‘‘ and now, Mr. Wren- 
ham, as the hour is up, we will go in to 
dinner.” 

I rose, surprised that the time had passed 
so fast. 


CHAPTER XII 

A SHADOW AT A BANQUET 

‘^WiLL you knock at the door and bid 
your wife to come? ” said Harley as we passed 
into the hall. “ I would send a servant, but 
there is none convenient, save that awkward 
fellow, Perkins.” 

I was compelled to tap but once on the 
door, and then Julia came forth. I do not 
know what trifles of woman's adornment she 
had found in the room, but somehow, al- 
though the dress was the same, she was 
changed when she appeared. Perhaps it was 
a new ribbon around her neck, or a new ar- 
rangement of her hair, which was drawn high 
upon her head, but now the capricious Eng- 
lish girl who rode with me through the forest 
walked with a stateliness and dignity as new 
to me as it was surprising. The gay girl had 
become, for the moment, the great lady. 

I saw that flash of admiration appear 
194 


A Shadow at a Banquet 195 

again in Harley’s eyes and hang for a moment 
on his eyelids, but I did not blame him; on 
the contrary, I would have blamed him did he 
not admire. 

“ Permit me to take you in to dinner, 
Mrs. Wrenham,” he said, offering his arm, 
“ and as for you, Mr. Wrenham, I fear that 
you will have to follow alone.” 

He looked over his shoulder and laughed, 
but I was content, for I was in truth most 
hungry, and it was a welcome fact to know 
that I was walking towards the dinner-table. 

The dining-room was at the far end of the 
hall, and through the open door pleasant 
odours already came. Just before we entered 
I noticed three rifles leaning against the wall 
of the hall, and half hidden by the arms of a 
great chair. I was surprised, for a moment, 
but not so when I reflected on the wisdom of 
having fire-arms handy in such a dangerous 
country. 

The dining-room was a fine apartment, 
of a good width but much greater length, 
with a brass chandelier which contained six 
lighted candles hanging from the centre of 


196 My Captive 

the ceiling. Six other candles, burning with 
a steady flame, rested on the table, and the 
light of all twelve fell over some good china, 
though I noted that the scanty array of 
knives, forks, and spoons seemed to be of 
pewter. Smoking dishes gave forth the 
odour that had greeted us as we came up the 
hall. Four or five men, rather roughly clad, 
all save one, were waiting, and sat down at the 
table with us. Here as elsewhere there was 
no sign whatever of woman's presence. 

The men were introduced to us as em- 
ployees of high rank on the estate, the one 
of good dress turning out to be the chaplain. 

“ There are so many people about here in 
ordinary times that it keeps one man busy 
looking after the health of their souls, and I 
am sure that they could not have a better 
than Clymer," said Harley. 

Mr. Clymer was of about Harley’s own 
age, with a thin and keen but somewhat sanc- 
timonious face. He was one man who looked 
his trade. He, like the others, had little to 
say, leaving the talk to Harley, who sat at the 
head of the table and carved. 


A Shadow at a Banquet 197 

“ I find that I must always be making 
apologies,” he said, and permit me at this 
moment to add one more; it is for the ab- 
sence of the silver, which was stolen while 
I was away, by Flournoy, I suppose, and 
which he has probably sold by this time in 
Charleston. Ah, well, I have said a long fare- 
well to it. At least I am resigned.” 

Then he addressed himself more particu- 
larly to Julia, talking of many light topics, 
and I noticed that, neither by direction nor 
indirection, did he inquire further as to who 
we were, whither we came, and whence we 
were going. 

If the appointments of the room and table 
were somewhat dilapidated, the food was plen- 
tiful and good. There was beef, a haunch of 
succulent venison shot in the neighbouring 
forest, bread and vegetables, and a good wi^e, 
poured from long-necked, dark bottles. 

‘‘ The robbers, by some happy chance, 
overlooked this,” said Harley, as he poured 
the rich liquid into Julia's glass, ‘‘ and you 
must drink it, Mrs. Wrenham, as it is the 
most perfect tonic for a tired frame that I 


198 My Captive 

have ever tasted. It is a Hungarian wine that 
my father imported.’’ 

When I tasted my own glass I knew that 
his words about the wine were true. Fresh 
life leaped into my veins and my head 
throbbed with a new exhilaration. 

The good-humour of Harley and the feel- 
ing of comradeship that he impressed upon us 
without effort were infectious. He seemed 
to take his losses at the hands of the robbers 
so easily, and to be so glad to give us his 
hospitality, that our hearts grew light, and 
it was a dinner of rare enjoyment. 

I did not forget amid the courses and the 
talk my great object — that is, to find the way 
to Morgan, and by-and-bye I led up to it, 
though deviously. I hazarded a guess as to 
the general’s present location. 

I think he has gone towards the Broad 
River,” said Harley, “ and I hear that Tarle- 
ton is after him. I told you, Mr. Wrenham, 
that I do not feel deeply about this war. In 
fact, I am unable to make up my mind on the 
subject, and it is a happy condition.” 

‘‘Why so?” I asked. 


A Shadow at a Banquet 199 

Because events do not disturb my equa- 
nimity,” he replied. '' Now I can await the 
approaching conflict of Tarleton and Morgan 
without any apprehensions. Not so with 
others, for whatever its result many must be 
cast down.” 

“ But is that a wise view? ” asked Julia. 
“ Those who never suffer much also are never 
happy much.” 

“ That is, you prefer the see-saw? ” 

“ Yes, because if one end of the see-saw 
is down it will be high up the next moment.” 

The colour in her face was brilliant, and 
she seemed to be moved by a revulsion of 
spirits after our many hardships and dan- 
gers. Never had I seen a woman more 
sparkling. She had an odd mind, one that 
saw the humorous side of things, and she 
made us laugh again and again, though her 
wit was never bitter. I now saw that flash of 
admiration reappear more than once in the 
eyes of Harley, and I repeat that I did not 
blame him. Even the sardonic parson smiled, 
and the reign of good feeling was unbroken. 

I noticed that the silent men ate heavily 


200 My Captive 

and all except Clymer appeared awkward, but 
I did not wonder at the latter, as perhaps in 
this isolated district they were unused to the 
society of women. After we had been at the 
table about half an hour a man appeared at 
the door, and our host, excusing himself, went 
out and talked with the stranger for a mo- 
ment or two. When he returned to his chair 
he said casually: 

‘‘ It was about some horses which I have 
in a field several miles from here. Farm-hands 
do not always choose suitable moments for 
the delivery of messages.’’ 

He poured wine again, and we drank to 
our host’s good health. Miss Howard still 
talked with the greatest vivacity. It seemed 
to me that her spirits had now become some- 
what excessive, as if she were suffering from 
mental excitement, but after all, it was no 
surprise when one considers the strangeness 
of the situation and the relaxation after so 
great a strain. 

I was sitting with my face turned to a 
window opening out on a narrow piazza 
half shaded by the pillars. But I could see as 


A Shadow at a Banquet 201 

I glanced occasionally toward the glass that 
the night was still dark, with light clouds drift- 
ing by the moon. Then I saw something pass 
on the piazza in front of the glass. It was 
the figure of a man, and I caught a fleeting 
glimpse of the face. 

That glimpse was enough. I recognised 
on the instant one of the men who had been 
with Crowder, and from the way he strolled 
along the piazza I judged that he was free 
and at his ease. 

The wine on my lips became as bitter as 
death. I seemed to see everything in one 
gleam of light, and I know that my eyes must 
have expressed all my thoughts had any one 
been looking. Then came that moment of 
icy calm which sometimes follows a terrible 
awakening, and in a moment I made my re- 
solve. 

I looked across at our host. How his face 
had changed in that brief instant! The thin, 
high-bred features were now sharp and cruel. 
There was something about that lip that I 
did not like, and when he flashed his look of 
admiration once more upon Miss Howard 


202 My Captive 

there was that in the look which would cause 
the heart of a good woman, did she see, to 
tremble within her. 

The dinner approached its end. Harley 

filled a last glass of wine, and with the edge 

of his white teeth showing and a side glance 

at Miss Howard, he said: 

' * 

A proper ending to your journey.” 

I could have dashed my glass, wine and 
all, into his face, but I drank the toast never- 
theless, and with a steady hand replaced the 
glass upon the table. 

“ I have no doubt,” said Harley, that 
Mr. and Mrs. Wrenham are now thoroughly 
worn out. Do you wish to retire? ” 

Again that flush, deeper than ever, dyed 
the girl's face and neck, but I said: 

“ Mrs. Wrenham wishes to go, but I shall 
stay. My wife's nerves are somewhat upset. 
If you do not mind I shall sleep on the large 
sofa in the drawing-room, where until my eye- 
lids close I can see the firelight flickering over 
the floor. It's a habit that I have, and if you 
don't mind I'll continue it here.” 

‘‘ Oh, certainly,” he replied, but you’ll sit 


A Shadow at a Banquet 203 

with me a little while after Mrs. Wrenham 
has gone. As I told you, I’m a lonely man, 
and I purpose to make the most of my guests. 
You’ll forgive me, I know.” 

His lips curved in a smile, but there was 
no enigma to me in that smile. 

Miss Howard excused herself and with- 
drew. I noticed her keenly, and I saw that 
the pupils of her eyes were still dilated. Her 
lips, too, moved slightly, as if she were ex- 
pectant. I wondered, but I could arrive at 
no conclusion. 

When she was gone all the others except 
the clergyman excused themselves and went 
out, leaving the three of us, Clymer, Harley, 
and me. Harley still talked lightly, but the 
clergyman sat silent and sardonic. 

'' Let us have just one more glass to- 
gether,” said Harley. ‘‘ I do not wish to 
boast, Mr. Wrenham, but I’ll wager that in 
your travels through South Carolina you do 
not often get such wine as this.” 

'' No, I do not,” I replied, and I spoke the 
truth. 

We drank the wine, and again I felt that 
14 


204 My Captive 

flush of new life through my veins. My 
strength seemed to leap up for the conflict. 

Harley was silent for a few minutes, and 
I did not choose to speak first. In the next 
room the great fire still blazed and crackled, 
and outside the clouds that floated before the 
moon grew heavier and darker. 

Mr. Wrenham,” said Harley presently, 
I have told you that I was a lonely man.” 

You have.” 

'‘And I said also that I envied you. I 
named the object of that envy, a woman 
young, beautiful, tender, and above all of a 
fine mind and spirit. I am glad to see that 
you have such good taste. Youth and beauty 
would soon pall without a soul and mind to 
match them. Do you not think so, Mr. 
Wrenham? ” 

" I certainly think so.” 

" I have seen how she bore herself during 
this dinner and the admiration that I formed 
for her has increased. In short, I find that 
I cannot live without her.” 

" What do you mean? ” I cried, though I 
had not expected less. 


A Shadow at a Banquet 205 

‘‘ I propose,” he replied, that while you 
take profit by my help to speed yourself on 
your journey, you leave your wife behind.” 

There come, though rarely, moments 
when we wish to sink our fingers in a man's 
neck and feel his breath die within him. Such 
a moment had come to me, but I was able to 
remain calm, even to keep my fingers still. 

'' Why? ” I asked. 

“ Why? Man, why do you ask such a 
question? The times are troubled. All jour- 
neys are dangerous, and particularly so for 
women. You could go on, while she would 
remain here, well treated.” 

'' I do not care to continue my journey 
thus,” I replied. 

“ There are different kinds of journeys,” 
he said, and he showed more of his white teeth 
than ever before. 

'' Wherever I go, there my wife goes too,” 
I replied. 

'' I am sorry,” he said, because, Mr. 
Wrenham, I think you are taking some very 
unnecessary risks.” 

I did not reply, and again he was silent for 


2o 6 My Captive 

a while. My hand unconsciously stole to- 
wards the hilt of my sword — I had not taken 
it off when I came in to dinner — but I saw 
how foolish the movement was and drew it 
away again. During all our talk Clymer had 
said nothing, sitting there in the same blank 
silence. 

Mr. Wrenham,” resumed Harley pres- 
ently, ‘‘ my opinion of you has fluctuated in 
the course of the evening. I do not know 
what I shall think a half-hour from now, but 
just at present I do not believe that your 
name is Wrenham.” 

Your present opinion is correct,” I said. 

“ I also have another opinion, subject to 
change,” he continued, which tells me that 
the lady in yonder is not your wife.” 

‘‘ Again you are correct.” 

Then,” he said with sudden fierceness, 
what claim have you upon her that is better 
than mine? ” 

‘‘ If you put it in that crude way,” I re- 
plied, ‘‘ mine is the right of first possession, 
and I mean to enforce it.” 

I tapped the hilt of my sword as I spoke. 


A Shadow at a Banquet 207 

“ He keeps who can,” he said, and I could 
detect no trace of resentment in his tone. 

Then he was silent again, and I studied 
him. We had escaped from a great danger 
when in Crowder’s hands, but I knew that this 
man was much more formidable than that 
dead desperado had ever been. 

Mr. Harley,” I said, ‘‘ I too have fluctu- 
ating opinions of you, and just now I have a 
belief that your name is not Harley.” 

You are correct.” 

‘‘ And I also have a belief, though I may 
be wrong, or I may change it a half-hour later, 
that your real name is Flournoy.” 

‘‘ Correct again,” he said, and I distinctly 
saw a flash of pride in his eye. ‘‘ The real 
Harley left this place in a great hurry, partly 
for his own safety and partly to join Greene, 
and I, seeing no reason why Harley Hall 
should be without a master, have graciously 
taken his place, and, for this evening, his 
name.” 

So we arrive at an understanding,” I 

said. 

“ We do,” he continued, “ and I should 


2o8 My Captive 

add that one of my men has come with an ac- 
count of a capture by my lieutenant, Crowder, 
of a young man and a young girl — the man an 
American and the girl English. But Crowder 
was a bungler; he let the man and the girl 
escape, and then he got himself killed by the 
man.’" 

‘‘ So? I said. 

“ Yes. Crowder had his good points, but 
finesse was not one of them. I must repair his 
mistakes. The man’s name was Marcel, and 
the girl’s Howard. I don’t mind telling you 
that the girl in yonder is Miss Howard, and 
you are Mr. Marcel. As you are American 
and she is English, I shall be doing a good 
deed to keep you two apart.” 

While this discourse was going on, the so- 
called chaplain said nothing, sitting there 
with a blank, expressionless face as if the fate 
of either Flournoy or myself mattered little 
to him. I was moved by a sudden curiosity 
concerning him. 

“ And your chaplain .here, or rather the 
man you introduced as chaplain,” I said. “ I 
suppose that as you were observing the law 


A Shadow at a Banquet 209 

of contradictions you introduced him as chap- 
lain because he is the worst man of your 
band.” 

Flournoy looked curiously at the man. I 
never saw a more cynical gaze, and to my 
wonder a faint tint of red appeared on the 
cheeks of the alleged minister. Flournoy 
laughed softly. 

“ Singular as it may seem to you, Mr. Mar- 
cel,” he said, “ I told the truth when I was 
speaking of Clymer. Perhaps it was the only 
time, but nevertheless I did it then. My 
friend’s name is Clymer, and he is a minister, 
or rather was, though he still officiates now, 
at the burial of a faithful comrade, for in- 
stance, or when it becomes necessary to speed 
a parting soul; a most useful man, and, more- 
over, he lends distinction and character to my 
band. I can add, too, that of all the men I 
have he is the fittest to lead a forlorn hope.” 

I thought I saw the lower lip of the chap- 
lain tremble slightly. But he said nothing. 
Instead he filled his glass once more and drank 
it off at a draught, to be followed by another 
immediate refilling and emptying. 


210 


My Captive 

Flournoy again laughed softly. 

As I told you, Clymer is a most useful 
man, but he has his reward,’’ he continued. 

It is only with me that he could get such 
wine as that.” 

Clymer’s lips moved as if he were about to 
reply, but I never knew what he would have 
said, as at that moment the door opened and 
Miss Howard came back into the room. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A VISION OF THE FIRE-LIGHT 

She stood for a moment regarding us. 
Her cheeks were deep red and in her eyes 
shone that strange flame which I had noticed 
when she left the room, only it was more bril- 
liant now. The fire-light from the next room 
flickered across her face as she stood before 
us, and she looked like a young goddess just 
stepped out of the darkness. Yet there was 
something in her beauty that I had never seen 
before, something wild and peculiar, that sent 
a shiver through me. 

Flournoy regarded her with a look of ad- 
miration — his own particular kind of admira- 
tion that he did not seek to conceal — and to 
my surprise a deep flush overspread the face 
of Clymer. Unlike Flournoy, he seemed to 
admire from a distance. 

'' I cannot sleep to-night,’’ she said, and 
her tone was reckless. I do not know, but 

2II 


212 My Captive 

I think that our travels and hardships in the 
forest have got upon my nerves. I fear the 
dark and the silence, so you will let me come 
back here with you, will you not? 

“ Never was a guest more welcome! ’’ 
cried Flournoy. “ Here, gentlemen, help us 
clear a place for Miss Howard.’’ 

A significant light gleamed in his eyes. 
I noticed, too, that he called her by her right 
name. Her chair was placed again, her wine- 
glass was refilled, and Flournoy, summoning 
one of the men, bade him build anew the fire 
in the next room. When this was done the 
hickory logs crackled and blazed with fresh 
fervour, and through the open door the fire- 
light shone upon us, a great band of it falling 
across Miss Howard’s face, deepening the 
tints of scarlet in her cheek and making her 
blonde hair shine like new-polished gold. 

I tried to catch her eye and draw from her 
look some guess as to the meaning of her 
strange conduct. But she seemed resolute to 
avoid me. In fact, I was to her as one for- 
gotten, and all her attentions were for Flour- 
noy and the chaplain. As between these two 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 213 

she seemed impartial in her preference, ad- 
dressing herself now to one, now to the other, 
and laughing with both. 

My blood chilled slowly, and I stared at 
her in wonder. Could this be the girl with 
whom I had travelled through the forest, and 
for whom I had risked my life more than 
once? Surely this was not the ideal of every- 
thing pure and beautiful in womanhood that 
I had created in my heart ! I winked my eye- 
lids to see if any mist had come before them. 
There was no mist. Perhaps I had been tak- 
ing too much wine. I felt my head to see how 
it fared. There was nothing wrong with my 
head. So, it was the girl, and the girl alone, 
who made the difference. 

I should tell you,'^ said Flournoy pres- 
ently to Miss Howard, “ that my name is not 
Harley at all, but I am Flournoy, of whom 
you perhaps have heard. 

‘‘ I suspected that you were not Harley,'' 
she said, ‘‘ and Mr. Marcel perhaps has told 
you who we are." 

He has. And you are disappointed be- 
cause I am not Harley?" 


214 My Captive 

Not at all; on the contrary, I am de- 
lighted. Do you know, I fancy that the 
owner of this house is a dull man, a being 
wrapped up in his books, prim, sedate, and 
pedantic. I read it in his furniture. We 
women can see character in furniture and its 
arrangement. But you — ^you, Mr. Flournoy, 
you do not bother with the musty pages of 
dry books. You lead a life of romance out 
there in the forest, in the saddle with your 
sword on your thigh. And you, Mr. Clymer, 
you are ever by his side, the bravest of the 
brave.” 

The eyes of both men shone with pleasure. 
Clymer seemed to be waking up, and he 
could scarcely take his eyes from Miss 
Howard’s face. That singular light was still 
in her eyes, and once when they met mine 
they passed on so swiftly that I could read 
nothing. 

She reached for the wine-bottle herself, 
and her bare wrist gleamed white as snow 
across the table-cover. 

You will let me fill the glasses, Mr. 
Flournoy, will you not? ” she asked. 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 215 

Let you!” he exclaimed. ‘‘The wine 
will become nectar then! ” 

She filled their glasses, and then held the 
mouth of the bottle over mine. But I turned 
it down with such a snap that I heard the 
glass crack. 

“ As you will,” she said lightly, and poured 
the wine into her own glass. 

“ To the most beautiful woman who ever 
crossed the portal of Harley Hall,” cried 
Flournoy, raising his glass on high. His eyes 
gleamed with reckless light. 

“ To the most daring raider that ever led 
his men in forest combat,” she said, raising her 
own glass and clinking it against his. Cly- 
mer swung his alone. Then the two men 
drank deeply, but the girl’s hand was unsteady 
and her glass fell smashing to the floor. I sat 
in cold silence. 

“ Never mind,” said Miss Howard, laugh- 
ing as they procured her a new glass. “ I 
will fill it again directly.” 

Then she let her eyes fall upon Flournoy’s 
face with a gaze that intoxicated him. She 
had never looked at me in that way. 


2I6 


My Captive 

I suppose that there is in every good 
woman, buried deep in her heart though it 
may be, a spark of what we call the devil, 
perhaps to lie there forever concealed, 
and perhaps at some unforeseen time to 
leap into glowing life. There was no other 
way in which I could account for Julia 
Howard. 

“ I told you, Mr. Flournoy,” she said, 
“ that your life seemed to me to be full of ro- 
mance. If I were a man that is the life that 
I would care to lead, riding under the silver 
moon, no sordid thoughts, no care for the 
future, my home wheresoever I chanced to 
be, the wild thrill of the charge, the glory of 
victory, and then the gallop on to new tri- 
umphs. Ah, Mr. Flournoy, you are like one 
of the old knights of chivalry — you are in 
your way a king.” 

You are right,” he replied. ‘‘I am a 
king, but there is one thing I lack.” 

What is that? ” 

“ A queen.” 

He gazed boldly at her, and leaning 
across the table grasped at her white hand, 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 217 

which lay on the edge. It was a chance then 
that her hand fell away. My heart grew sick 
within me. 

“ A queen! ” she cried. It is true. I had 
not thought of that. The king deserves his 
queen as the eagle deserves his mate. Why 
not drink to your future queen, Mr. Flour- 
noy? ” 

He drank instantly to his queen, and as 
he spoke the words he stared straight into her 
eyes. I was tempted then to draw my sword 
and have done with him at once, but when I 
gazed across at the girl with her flushed 
cheeks and flaming eyes I thought to myself, 
'' What now is there to save? ” and held my 
hand. 

I looked once more through the window, 
and beheld the pure moon now shining in the 
heavens. I too would like to be riding un- 
der the silver moon,’’ I said to myself, ‘‘ and 
had I my wish there would be only Old Put 
and I.” 

The word “ queen ” seemed to have im- 
pressed Flournoy’s mind. He repeated it 
over and over again. Yes, it is a queen I 


2I8 


My Captive 

want,” he said. “ You are a wonderful wom- 
an, Miss Howard. Your mind equals your 
face, and that is beyond compare.” 

His tone had grown somewhat thick. Evi- 
dently the man was losing his self-control. 
My mind went back to that wild scene in the 
forest when Crowder and his men danced by 
the camp-fire. It was like this in some ways 
and yet so unlike. There the girl was as cold 
as ice and haughtily repulsed Crowder and 
his men, but here — I would not let my 
thoughts go further, only I was forced to see 
that now her company was different. 

It may be, Mr. Flournoy,” said Clymer, 
“ that we can find a queen.” 

“ It may be so,” replied Flournoy, “ and 
I trust we shall not have far to look.” 

I do not know what stayed my hand. 
Perhaps it was some lingering hope that I was 
mistaken. 

'' Queens are born, not made,” said the 
girl. 

One knows it when he looks at you,” 
said Flournoy. 

Now this was a bald compliment, but she 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 219 

who had charmed me with her delicate grace 
took it without flinching, aye, as if she wanted 
more. 

Flournoy now grew voluble. The fire that 
burned him mounted to his head, and his 
tongue flowed with the unceasing clatter of 
water pouring over a dam. Yet he talked 
well — much as I wished to have my hand 
upon his throat I was bound to confess it. 
There was in his nature a strain of poetry, 
or the breath of the forest, which may be 
the same thing, and he seemed to have set 
as a task for himself the enthralling of this 
girl. 

He painted his rover’s life in colours far 
more vivid than the real, yet the tale every- 
where rang true. He told of green depths 
of the forest, trickling streams, feasts in the 
open by blazing fires and mad gallops, and 
she hung upon his words, her lips slightly 
parted, and her eyes alight, as if that too 
was the life for her. I was motionless, and 
the chaplain drank wine in silence. That 
man’s capacity is to this day my wonder and 
admiration. 

15 


220 My Captive 

And, too,” continued Flournoy, we are 
not wholly without the beauties and graces 
of life. There is poetry in the great woods 
and the mountains and the silent stars at 
night. And then often by the camp-fire in the 
still evening, when we have eaten and we rest, 
there is music.” 

Music? ” said the girl. 

Aye, music, and of no ignoble kind. — 
Clymer, go fetch your violin and show your 
guests what a soul you have within you, and 
what skill at your finger's touch.” 

The man arose without a word and left the 
room, his walk as steady as if water alone had 
touched his lips. He returned in a few mo- 
ments with an old black violin, and sitting 
down in the glow of the fire-light began to 
play. 

It was a sensuous, passionate air, some 
song of Italy, perhaps, but he was a master, 
and pure melody flowing from the strings 
filled every corner of the old house. I did 
not remember until long afterward that while 
the man played he kept his eyes firmly fixed 
on the girl’s face. 


221 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 

When he finished she clapped her hands 
softly, and Flournoy was not slack with his 
praise. 

“ Did I not tell you? ” he cried. Where 
in all these thirteen colonies could you find a 
better musician? ’’ 

'' Where did you learn it? I asked. 

“ The most of it at Oxford.” 

^‘At Oxford?” 

Aye; my parents sent me across the seas 
to finish my education there and to take holy 
orders.” 

He laughed the laugh of a cynic, and I felt 
most unpleasant. 

“ Go on, let it be an evening of mirth,” 
said Flournoy. Something lively now.” 

He began an air of the dance, a wonder- 
ful quickstep, full of lilting measures and a 
swing as of silken skirts. I confess, too, that 
it made my own blood leap. I have loved the 
dance in my time, and almost unconsciously 
my feet moved to the tune. 

“ Some of us have danced by that,” said 
Flournoy, looking into Miss Howard’s eyes, 
'' but it is a lady who could dance by it best, 


222 My Captive 

say a forest queen dancing on the turf by the 
light of the silver moon.” 

I think so too,” she said. 

And you will show us how it ought to be 
done? ” 

“ I will show you how it ought to be done.” 

She rose from her chair and stood erect, 
slender and tall, with the hot eyes of those 
men upon her. There was a spot in either 
cheek that burned like fire, and then she 
swayed like a flower moved by the wind. But 
she quickly recovered herself and began to 
dance. 

There was but the flickering fire to light 
up the room — it had sunk somewhat, and now 
and then she was in the shadow — and only we 
three to see. But the music — deep, swaying, 
and with those thrilling chords that only the 
violin makes — steeped our senses, and the girl 
danced to it. She and the music were one, so 
perfect were they in accord. I saw now and 
then her face, in which the red spots still 
burned, but the long lashes were lowered over 
her eyes. Her feet seemed scarcely to touch 
the floor, so light were they. They twinkled 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 223 

in and out, and now and then showed the faint- 
est gleam of a silk stocking, while the soft 
rustle of her skirts was another note to the 
music. 

The two men were as if enchanted; even 
he who made the music did not take his eyes 
from the girl, and perhaps I was as rapt as 
they. Flournoy no longer spoke. He was on 
the other side of the table, and he leaned both 
elbows upon it, his face in his hands, and 
watched her. No movement of hers escaped 
him. Tales of the cruel old days floated 
through my mind. I thought of a Roman 
general watching with covetous eyes the 
beautiful Greek slave as she danced before 
him. Then and there I took a resolution that 
whatever befell he should taste the edge of 
my sword, above all if he were the victor 
otherwise. All thoughts of Morgan and my 
duty to the cause were gone for the moment. 

The fire, which we had forgotten to re- 
plenish, died down more and more, and the 
moonlight coming to take its place streamed 
in at the windows. 

The girl’s hair was shaken loose by-and- 


224 


My Captive 

bye, and fell down her back in a great mass — 
spun gold when the fire-light flickered across 
it, but shining like molten silver when bathed 
in the rays of the moonlight. And still there 
was the soft beat of her feet on the floor like 
the murmur of distant water as she danced 
and swayed to the music. A sudden great 
pity for her seized me. What right had I to 
judge of a woman, placed by no choice of 
her own in the midst of such trials? 

The music died away in a long-drawn note 
like the sigh of a child, and the girl, falling 
into a chair, buried her face in her hands. 

Then Flournoy came to life. He struck 
his fist upon the table and cried in a tone full 
of hateful exultation: 

‘‘ You are the queen, the true forest queen, 
the only queen in the world for me! You 
shall ride through the forest by my side at the 
head of our band! You will come with me? 

‘‘ Yes,’^ she replied, and now when she 
raised her face from her hands I saw that it 
had turned deadly pale. I will come with 
you. But not now. Don't touch me! To- 
morrow! " 


A Vision of the Fire-Light 225 

I had sprung to my feet and my sword 
was half drawn. But the table was between 
us. He, too, was standing, though most un- 
steadily, and he waved his hand as if he would 
push me back. 

“ You are too late, man! he cried, a tri- 
umphant sneer appearing on his face. “ You 
had your chance and you did not use it. You 
have lost, and you have only yourself to 
blame! ” 

‘‘ A word,” said Miss Howard. “ I de- 
mand a word before either of you says more.” 

“ Ten thousand of them if you wish it, 
dearest one,” replied Flournoy. 

“ I ask that you let Mr. Marcel go — to 
oblige me, you know. He has been my friend, 
and he has served me well. He is, perhaps, 
a little dull, but in view of what has hap- 
pened I do not wish any harm to befall him 
through us.” 

Flournoy looked at me, and then he roared 
with laughter. 

“ Man,” he cried, “ you have doubly lost. 
She calls you dull! Tis the last rebuke a 
woman can give.” 


226 


My Captive 

Then he turned to Miss Howard. 

“ Will it suffice if I let him go in the morn- 
ing? ” he asked. 

Yes, it will do,” she replied. 

I was still on my feet and my face was 
blazing. 

“ I will not take my life at such a price! ” 
I cried. 

You are not consulted in the matter,” 
she said, ‘‘ nor need you be.” 

“ That I know,” I replied, but I can put 
an end to this scoundrel here and now.” 

I drew my sword wholly from its scabbard, 
but she cried imperiously: 

“ Put up your weapon, Mr. Marcel. I am 
a free woman and I can do as I choose.” 

I looked straight into her eyes, but her 
gaze met mine so steadily that I could read 
nothing there. Then I put my sword slowly 
back in its place, and dropping into my chair, 
hid my face in my hands as she had done. 


CHAPTER XIV 

AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND 

I WAS aroused by a touch upon my shoul- 
der. It was Flournoy. The look upon his 
face was a most extraordinary mingling of tri- 
umph and anticipation. 

‘‘ Why mourn, man? ” he said. ‘‘ You 
have lost, but you may win next time. I 
don’t bear you any malice, and you shall go 
free in the morning. It is part of the bar- 
gain.” 

Then he swayed forward and fell in his 
chair. I looked at him, and again I was 
tempted to draw my sword and make an end 
of him at that moment, but some impulse of 
prudence restrained me. I was aroused from 
the contemplation of this man and his evil 
spirit by a light rustle, and when I looked up 
again the girl was gone. 

The face of Flournoy fell forward on the 
table, and he seemed to be asleep. The ex- 

227 


228 


My Captive 

chaplain was gazing at me with wide-open 
eyes, and the expression in them was so singu- 
lar that I started. 

‘‘ Come into the hall,’’ he said in a whis- 
per, but a whisper so distinct that it pene- 
trated every corner of the room. 

I obeyed instantly. It seemed to me that 
I detected a friendly note in the man’s voice. 
Flournoy never stirred. 

I stepped noiselessly into the hall and 
Clymer followed. 

“ Your room is here,” he said, pointing 
to a door, ‘‘ and Miss Howard’s is yonder. 
There is a little good left in me, and I will 
help you; not for your own sake — I care 
nothing for you — but for that of the girl 
whom you now think so bad, but who 
is too good for you or any one else in 
the world.” 

I stared at him with amazement and dawn- 
ing delight; that delight, I am happy to 
think, even to this day, was due not to the 
prospect of escape, but to a new faith in the 
girl, aroused by his unexplained words. 

“ She played a part, man — did you not see 


An Unexpected Friend 229 

it? ” he resumed, ‘‘ to drive away his suspicions 
and lull him to slumber.’^ 

The house is guarded. What am I to 
do? I asked. Just then I could not see my 
way. 

‘‘ Go to your room as I tell you. Be 
quiet! Some of the men are stirring! It is 
midnight now. In about two hours come out 
and get the girl. Go to her room for her. 
There is a window at the end of the hall. 
Leave by that and go to the corner of the 
stable. Your horse will be waiting for you 
there, and another if I can get it.” 

The man’s tone was compelling, and say- 
ing a brief good-night I went to the room in- 
dicated by him. It was a bare little apart- 
ment, its furniture only a bed, a chair, and a 
table, and the single window looked out to- 
wards the stable. 

I lay down fully dressed upon the bed, and 
I kept my bare sword by my side. In my 
recumbent position I could see very well 
through the window, and mechanically I 
gazed at the stables and the forest, pallid in 
the moonlight. My head was throbbing with 


230 


My Captive 

the variety of emotions that I had suffered. 
Like master like man, I thought, and Flour- 
noy was but the repetition of Crowder, 
though on a higher scale. The appetites were 
the same, and under vivid influences disclosed 
themselves in a similar manner. 

There, too, was that singular being, the 
ex-chaplain. I could not wholly make him 
out. Was this, after all, a plot to get rid 
of me on the ground that I was trying to 
escape before the appointed time, an engage- 
ment that they meant should never be ful- 
filled? They would do it merely to save any 
scruples the girl might feel because I had 
served her. 

My thoughts always came back to the 
girl. She was beautiful; that I had seen from 
the first, but never was she so beautiful as she 
danced there in the alternate flicker of the 
firelight and the moonlight. It was that 
spark of the devil that blinded and bewildered 
me and made me her slave more than ever. 
She must be conscious of her power, and that 
was why she, wicked creature! had used it 
upon us. 


An Unexpected Friend 231 

Then the words of the ex-chaplain in the 
hall came back to me — '' She is too good for 
you or anybody else in this world! ” Was she 
really playing a part? I thought of Flournoy 
with his dulled senses, leaning against the 
table, his cruel face hid upon the cloth. Cly- 
mer might be right, after all. 

I lay upon the bed, and the two hours ap- 
pointed by the ex-chaplain were hours of rest. 
I did not sleep; I could not if I would, but the 
throbbing in my head gradually ceased, and 
my strength grew as if for some great crisis. 

Ten minutes before the appointed time, as 
nearly as I could judge it, I rose from the 
bed and, taking my sword in hand, began to 
fight an imaginary enemy there in the moon- 
light. There was no human figure save mine, 
but in fancy I put that of Flournoy before me, 
and I placed a sword in his hand. 

Then we swayed back and forth, cutting 
and thrusting, leaping now to this side and 
now to that, and trying all the tricks of fence, 
until at last I slew him as I had slain Crowder. 

Then I put my sword back in its scabbard, 
satisfied with this trial of strength. My 


232 


My Captive 

nerves were flexible and steady, despite the 
great strain that had been put upon me, and 
my eye was as keen as ever. I was ready. 

I opened the door and stepped without 
noise into the hall. It was so dark that I 
could barely see there, and the house was still. 
I stood for a moment or two until my eyes 
became accustomed to the darkness, as I 
wished to make no misstep, and then I ap- 
proached Miss Howard’s door. I tapped 
softly upon it, but there was no answer. The 
ex-chaplain had lied after all, and she had not 
been playing a part! A fierce and bitter oath 
rose to my lips. But I did not turn back. 

I tapped again on the door, but a little 
louder than before. No answer. A third 
time and still no answer. 

I dared not knock with greater force, not 
knowing who might hear, and so putting my 
shoulder against the door I pushed with great 
force. The door swung in noiselessly, and I 
stepped into the room. The girl was standing 
erect against the wall, her hands thrown out 
as if she would repulse an enemy, and a wild 
look of terror on her face. I stopped, amazed, 


An Unexpected Friend 233 

her gaze was so strange. Then she flung her- 
self forward, crying: 

“ O Mr. Marcel, is it you? is it you? ’’ 
Why, yes,” I said. “ Surely you did not 
expect any one else! ” 

“ Oh, no, but I feared — I feared ” 

She hung for a few moments upon my 
shoulder, and I saw now that her eyes were 
red with weeping. All the strength and cour- 
age were gone from her, and she was like a 
little child. A great wave of tenderness swept 
over me. Whatever she may have done and 
whatever she may have thought, she now 
clung to me for help and protection, and I 
would be the veriest scoundrel not to give all 
that I could. Unconsciously I placed my 
hands upon the yellow hair, which still hung 
in long curls down her back, and stroked 
them. 

Don’t be afraid, Julia,” I said. “ We’ll 
escape them yet.” 

“ Ah, I knew that you would never desert 
me whatever you may have thought of me,” 
she said. 

Then she changed suddenly. Some new 


234 


My Captive 

reserve of strength came to her aid. She 
stood erect again, the colour returned to her 
face and the fire to her eyes. 

Come, Mr. Marcel,’’ she said, let us es- 
cape at once from this horrible house. I hate 
it, every timber and brick of it ! I could wish 
that a thunderbolt would blot it out to- 
night!” 

“Aye,” I said, “let us go; your wish is 
mine too, every word of it.” 

I spoke from my heart. 

Her weakness did not return, and her 
hand resting lightly upon my arm we stole 
into the hall, my sword still in my hand and 
ready for use. But no one was there. The 
hall was as dark and silent as ever, only a mist 
of moonlight showing through the window at 
one end. 

“ Which way shall we go? ” she asked. 

She seemed to trust me absolutely. She 
had changed again, and changed wholly. She 
was once more the modest maid, captive 
though she was, who fled with me through the 
forest, and the Circe of the banquet and the 
dance was gone. 


An Unexpected Friend 235 

Through the window there,” I answered. 

The man called the chaplain will help 
us.” 

I thought so,” she said. 

I did not stay to ask her why, but led the 
way swiftly to the window. I opened it and 
looked out. I saw no guards. Evidently all 
the men about the house had gone to sleep, 
each supposing that their leader had set some 
one else to watch. 

My heart swelled with a great exultation. 
I would go, and I would take this girl with 
me. It did not matter whether or not she had 
been playing a part. She should go because I 
chose to take her. 

But she was as willing as I. She was 
now all docility and sweetness. I could not 
hasten enough for her. 

Do you hear anything? ” I asked, know- 
ing how acute are women’s ears in moments 
of danger. 

No,” she replied. 

Then, without asking her leave, I took her 
in my arms and prepared to lower her from 
the window. 

16 


236 My Captive 

'' Beware/’ she said, Tm not so very 
light.” 

I could carry you much farther,” I re- 
plied, “ and I’ll prove it.” 

‘‘ Oh, no, you won’t,” she said hastily. 
“ Set me down.” 

It was but a foot or two to the ground, 
and, lowering her hastily, I sprang out. We 
stood there a moment side by side, and a low, 
glad whinny came to our ears. 

It’s Old Put,” I said joyfully. 

‘‘ A true friend,” she added. 

The best in the world. You always 
know where to find him.” 

Know where to find him? ” 

Which means that he doesn’t have two 
faces; he is always the same,” I replied. 

There was moonlight enough for me to 
see a deep flush overspread her face. 

'' You are unkind, Mr. Marcel.” 

Not so much so as you have been.” 

‘‘ If I have done anything that seemed 
strange to you, it was to save us — and ” 

^‘And what?” 


‘‘ To show that I could.” 


An Unexpected Friend 237 

She held her head proudly, and that 
wicked flash appeared for a moment in her 
eye like a fire-fly gleaming in the darkness, 
and then was gone. 

I seized her hand in mine, and bending my 
head suddenly, kissed her on her white fingers. 

‘‘ O Mr. Marcel, what do you mean? '' she 
cried, and again she blushed. 

“ That man whom they call the chaplain 
told me that you were too good for anybody 
in this world, and he spoke the truth,” I re- 
plied. 

Hush, do not talk so,” she said. “ Lis- 
ten, there is the horse calling again.” 

Sure enough, it was the gentle whinny of 
Old Put, repeated like a warning, and I did 
not delay longer, knowing, too, from this that 
the horse was now outside the stable, and that 
Clymer had kept his word. 

“ Come, Julia,” I said, and I took her 
hand in mine. “ We shall soon be in the forest 
again.” 

‘‘And away from that awful house,” she 
said. 

She looked back towards it, and standing 


238 My Captive ^ 

there in the moonshine I plainly saw a shud- 
der shake her figure. 

Then we swiftly crossed the lawn,, or rather 
the neglected patch of weeds once a lawn, and 
approached the stable. I made out the dusky 
figure of Old Put as we drew near, and beside 
him stood another horse and a man./ The 
man, I felt sure, was Clymer. 

I was right in my surmise. 

Ah, you have her,” said the ex-chaplain 
in a tone of satisfaction as we came near 
enough for him to recognise us. 

Yes,” I said, ‘‘ and thanks to you we 
shall soon be far from here.” 

Miss Howard at that moment uttered a 
cry, and her fingers, which still rested upon 
my own, suddenly closed down as if they were 
made of steel. A man, pistol in hand, was 
emerging from the shadow of the stable. I 
saw at once that it was Flournoy, and I have 
never seen deadly and murderous passion 
more plainly marked upon any man^s face. 
Why he had revived so soon I do not know. 

'' Clymer, you traitor! ” he said. 

I saw in a flash our chance, and I saw, too> 


An Unexpected Friend 239 

that there was no fear in the eyes of the ex- 
chaplain. He had wheeled at the words, and 
he too with swift movement drew a pistol. 
His face in the malignity of its look was but 
little inferior to that of Flournoy. The good 
was gone out of him for the moment, and the 
evil was absolute. 

I seized Miss Howard and fairly lifted her 
upon the back of Old Put. Just at that mo- 
ment the two men fired and both fell. I 
• would have stayed to help him who helped us, 
but I saw the look on his face as he fell, arid 
I knew that it was no use. Moreover, I must 
think of the girl, as Flournoy's men would 
come running at the sound of the shots. 

I snatched at the bridle of the other horse, 
but, frightened by the reports of the pistols, 
he ran away before I could reach him. Only 
Old Put stood faithful. 

I smote Old Put sharply on the neck, and 
we dashed into the forest, I running by his 
side. I did not look back at the two men 
lying there on the earth, but I heard- long 
afterwards that both died, within two hours, of 
their wounds. I think, too, that the tragedy 


240 My Captive 

prevented any pursuit of us, as I saw no signs 
of it. 

We pressed on far into the depths of the 
forest, and the girl bore up wonderfully. I 
offered after a while to stop and let her rest, 
feeling that we were safe from pursuit, but 
she said no. 

“ Every minute that we go farther from 
Harley Hall I am by that much the happier,'’ 
she said. 

I looked up at her as she sat on the back 
of Old Put, and her eyes met mine. She red- 
dened once more from neck to brow with a 
vivid blush. Involuntarily she put up her 
hands and felt the long yellow curls as fine as 
spun silk which still hung about her shoul- 
ders. Then she began with fierce little move- 
ments of her hands to put them up again. 

“ Well, we are safe once more," she said 
defiantly. 

‘‘ Thanks to your wit." 

She was silent. 

“And to something more than wit — to a 
courage that dared." 

She was still silent, and I walked gravely 


An Unexpected Friend 241 

on by the side of Old Put, that great rush 
of tenderness that I felt for this woman en- 
veloping me like a golden cloud. Nor did I 
forget when I looked up at the silver moon to 
offer silent thanks for this new deliverance. 

Neither of us spoke again for an hour. 
Then she said: 

“ There was a time when you doubted me.'' 
She was looking down at me with re- 
proach in her eyes. I was silent for a few 
moments. Then I said: 


‘‘ It will never be again." 


CHAPTER XV 


AS SEEN IN A DREAM 

We were young and vigorous. The girl 
was tall, straight, almost as strong as I, and 
mile after mile dropped behind us. The air 
had the crisp, fresh coolness of a South Caro- 
lina winter, like a Northern day in autumn. 
The night passed. The sun rose from the 
mists, then, climbing steadily towards the 
heavens, shone in full splendour in an atmos- 
phere as pure as that over the sea. We could 
see far to right and left and before us, but 
we beheld neither men nor horses, just the 
rolling hills and valleys and the straggling 
forest. 

So much the better,” I said to Julia, 
for the lonelier the country the less obstacle 
there will be to our flight. Morgan is retreat- 
ing towards the Broad River, and as we have 
surely passed around Tarleton by this time, 
we ought to overtake him before night. I 
242 


As Seen in a Dream 243 

hope he will have plenty to eat, for I think 
that you and I will miss our dinner.’’ 

Do you know,” said she, '' I begin to 
wish that Tarleton will not catch Morgan? It 
would be an awful scene, and perhaps many of 
the rebels are good men after all.” 

Perhaps.” 

‘‘ Couldn’t the war be ended in some way 
without more years of fighting — by a sort of 
compromise? Suppose each side should give 
up a little? ” 

We might make the proposition, you 
and I, to Congress and the king.” 

Don’t jest. I’m in earnest.” 

“ Then I’m afraid there’s no chance for a 
compromise, and there hasn’t been for four or 
five years. Either we go free or we do not. 
You English like to boast of your courage 
and tenacity, and we make the same boast of 
ourselves. It has to be fought out to the end, 
win or lose.” 

I am sorry.” 

She spoke truthfully, as she looked, her 
sadness, but the wind soon blew it away, 
bringing back the sparkle to her eyes and the 


244 My Captive 

rose-flush to her cheeks. We stopped about 
noontime to rest, and Old Put made use of the 
opportunity to hunt for green grass, stopping 
at times to look benevolently at us and to in- 
dicate that his state of mind was content. 
We were both hungry, but we had nothing 
better to do than to watch Old Put nibble 
for his dinner, which he did very industriously 
until I called to him and told him it was time 
to start. 

Julia meanwhile was taking a good rest. 
She even slept a little, and once I saw her stir 
in her sleep and close her lips tightly together, 
as if she were living over again that scene of 
the night before. But we had not spoken of 
it now since the day came, and for the pres- 
ent I meant to keep silent about it, if she 
would. When she woke she looked around 
as if she did not remember, but in a few mo- 
ments she smiled at Old Put and me, and said 
she was ready again. 

She again refused to mount the horse, and 
we strolled on together. I felt safe now, and, 
coming to a cabin whose owner had been bold 
enough to remain and guard his own, I of- 


As Seen in a Dream 245 

fered to trade him the fine British coat I wore 
for any coat of his own, however old, provided 
it would hold together on my shoulders. He 
produced the garment and made the trade, 
by which he was a great gainer. He asked me 
no questions, differing therein from the coun- 
try people of the Northern regions through 
which I had campaigned so long. However, 
he looked very curiously at the tall girl with 
me. 

“You are American,” he said to me just 
before we started. 

“ Yes.” 

“ The lady looks English.” 

“ She is English.” 

“ It is very strange.” 

“ You are right. It is strange.” 

Such were my thoughts as we walked 
away. The man, who seemed to live there 
alone, half hunter, half farmer, stood in his 
cabin-door and watched us until we passed 
out of sight. 

I prevailed upon the girl to ride a while, 
but after an hour on horseback she dis- 
mounted again, saying she preferred to 


246 My Captive 

walk. About the middle of the afternoon we 
met a farmer who confirmed my belief that 
Morgan had gone on towards the Broad 
River, though he knew nothing of Tarleton. 
An hour later, as we were passing through 
thick woods, some one cried out to us to halt. 
I almost sprang up in my astonishment, and 
the girl uttered a little cry of fright, for neither 
of us supposed anybody to be near, having 
seen and heard nothing, and Old Put, I sup- 
pose, was tired or dreaming. 

Stop,’' I said to Julia; “it may be 
friends.” 

Two men on horseback came from a posi- 
tion among the dense trees. They were 
dressed in rough homespun gray, and looked 
like Americans, the two facts together indu- 
cing the belief that they were militia scouts 
of Morgan’s. 

“ An American and his lady,” exclaimed 
the foremost, and then he said to me: “ You 
are a soldier, are you not? ” 

“ Yes,” I replied. 

“ And on the way to Morgan too, I take 
it. Keep straight to the northwest, and you 


As Seen in a Dream 247 

will overtake him. We are good patriots 
also.’’ 

Thank you,” I said. Morgan seems to 
keep a sharp watch. I hope that we shall 
overtake him before nightfall.” 

He had ridden very close to me. 

‘‘ I don’t think it, my fine fellow,” he said. 
"'We’ll take good care of both you and the 
lady, for we are Tarleton’s scouts, not Mor- 
gan’s.” 

I saw then that the appearance and man- 
ner of the men had deceived me, but no 
thought of surrender to them entered my 
mind. I snatched at my pistol. The fellow, 
who was as wary as a panther, saw the move- 
ment and drew his own weapon. We fired 
almost at the same time. I saw him reel in 
his saddle, but not fall, and I was conscious of 
a thrill of pain in my head, followed by a 
heavy, crushing sensation, as if I had been 
struck by a hammer. I staggered, dropping 
upon my hands and knees. Consciousness 
left me entirely for a few minutes and then 
came back dimly, just enough for me to 
dream and to create events for myself. 


248 My Captive 

In this dream I saw a girl with tawny gold 
hair and blue eyes raise a sword snatched from 
the fallen man’s belt and slash at the second 
rider, who had drawn a cavalry sabre. The 
man, shouting with pain, dropped his sabre, 
clapped his other hand to his shoulder, and 
galloped after his comrade, whose horse, 
frightened by the shots, was running away 
with him. Both disappeared in the wood, and 
the girl, who stood for a minute or two watch- 
ing, the red sword in her hand, seemed to 
feel sure that they would not come back, for 
she rushed to the wounded man on the ground 
and raised his head in her arms. 

I watched her with a curious interest, this 
blonde girl who had been so bitter of speech 
at times, so strange of action at other times, 
and yet so much the master of herself. The 
man rose to his knees once, but fell back from 
weakness. His eyes closed almost, his face 
became very white, and there was blood on 
his hair. She raised his head and kissed his 
face, once, twice, and more, and begged him 
not to die. ‘‘ Live! Live for yourself and for 
me, Philip, for I love you, my hero! ” she said. 


As Seen in a Dream 249 

and a great bay horse stood looking and lis- 
tening. She flew to a little brook she saw 
flowing through the wood, and bringing 
water in her cap poured it upon the man’s 
face, while the horse nodded approval. Then 
she washed the blood out of his hair and 
bound up the wound with something white. 

No, Put, I will never leave him,” she said. 

I will never leave him, for he has saved me 
from death and worse, and I love him — I tell 
you I love him! ” whereupon the great horse 
nodded his approval with extreme vigour. 

I came to myself, and I was sorry that the 
dream was over. It was pleasant, very pleas- 
ant, and I was willing to dream on. I had 
a headache, but when I put my hand to the 
spot which ached I knew the wound was 
not serious — that it was nothing but a trifle. 
A bullet, clipping under the skin, had glanced 
along my skull and passed on, inflicting ^ 
slight concussion, like a heavy blow from a 
man’s fist, but that was all. I had seen many 
men victims of similar wounds in battle as 
good as ever the next day. 

You are not going to die, are you, Mr, 


250 


My Captive 

Marcel? ” tearfully asked the most modest 
and demure of blonde English maidens, stand- 
ing before me. 

My intentions are the precise opposite,” 
I replied. “ I have so much to live for.” 

It is curious how rapidly the feelings de- 
velop under the stress of great hardships and 
danger. The three days that I had been with 
her were equal to three years of ordinary 
time. 

‘‘ Would you bring me a little of that cool 
water to drink in your cap?” I asked. “I 
see that the cap is wet already, and it won’t 
hurt it.” 

She brought the water, and I drank. It 
was as cold as ice and as refreshing as nectar. 
I have seen men lying on the battle-field beg- 
ging for water as if it were the one great gift 
of Heaven to our kind. 

I felt twice the man that I was a minute 
before. The girl was strangely quiet, even 
shy, and more than ever I believed it my chief 
duty to protect her. 

No, Julia,” I said; ‘‘this rebel against 
the king means to live. So far from dying, I 


As Seen in a Dream 


251 


haven’t had anything more than a knockdown 
which has left a sore spot on the outside of 
my head and a little ache on the inside of it, 
but I can travel as well as ever. Here, Old 
Put is waiting for you. Get up and ride.” 

But she declined with indignation. 

I will not do that,” she said. “ You may 
be a rebel — in fact, I know you are — but you 
shall not walk while you are wounded. You 
must ride.” 

As I was still a little dizzy I yielded at last, 
though I did not like to do it, and rode for 
a couple of hours. Then, feeling as strong as 
ever, I dismounted and made Julia take her 
turn on horseback. But at the end of an 
hour she too dismounted, and we walked on 
together as before, not talking much, but hap- 
py. The sun was again retreating before the 
night, and the western skies were aflame. 
The light fell full upon the girl’s face, and her 
beauty, splendid and glowing before, was ten- 
der and spiritual now. 

We shall be in Morgan’s camp soon, 
Julia,” I said, and I shall have to resign my 
captive.” 


17 


252 My Captive 

“ I shall consider myself your prisoner 
until I am retaken by the English,” she said. 

I did not reply, but I was willing to accept 
my responsibilities. 

Old Put, who was walking slowly behind 
us, after his custom, raised his head and 
neighed. It was not a whinny, but a loud, 
sonorous neigh that could be heard afar. It 
was full of meaning too. And a quarter of a 
mile ahead of us on one of the open ridges I 
saw the cause — a troop of a dozen horsemen 
riding towards us at a half-gallop. Old Put 
neighed again, long and loud. 

‘‘ Ought we not to escape into the wood? ” 
exclaimed Julia in alarm. ‘‘ There is time yet. 
Those troopers may be English.” 

She did not seem to notice the oddity of a 
suggestion from her that she hide from the 
English, but I was confident. 

They are not English,” I said. “ They 
are Americans. Old Put knows his friends. 
Trust him.” 

In truth, the horse uttered his loud and 
joyous neigh a third time, and I had not the 
slightest apprehension, for it was impossible 


As Seen in a Dream 253 

to deceive Old Put when he was wide 
awake. 

The horsemen saw us and quickened their 
pace to a gallop. As they approached I could 
recognise the Continental buff and blue, and, 
telling Julia that it was all right, we walked 
gravely on to meet them. Old Put, his dem- 
onstrations of joy made, followed after with 
equal sobriety. 

They were dashing riders, those men, and 
their curiosity must have been aroused by the 
sight of the girl, for they came on at the long, 
swinging gallop of the good cavalryman, and 
quickly inclosed us. 

Good evening, colonel,’’ I said to the 
leader, saluting. I am happy to see you 
again and to join your command.” 

It was Colonel William Washington, the 
distant cousin of our great commander-in- 
chief, one of the finest cavalry commanders of 
our time, a fine, open-faced man of about 
thirty. 

Why, Marcel — Phil Marcel ! ” he cried 
in surprise; “is it you?” 

“ Yes, it is I, colonel.” 


254 My Captive 

And the lady?’’ 

'' The lady is my prisoner, colonel, an Eng- 
lish spy.” 

“ Did she give you that wound on your 
head? ” 

‘‘ I said a lady, colonel.” 

Every hat came off, and there was admira- 
tion as well as respect in the bow that each 
trooper made. 

The lady carried the news of our most 
important movements,” I said, ‘‘ and I was 
compelled to hold her a prisoner.” 

“You have done well, Mr. Marcel,” said 
my colonel. 

I thought so too. Perhaps I had done 
better than I thought. 

“ Now that I have brought the prisoner 
in,” I said, “ I shall have to resign her into 
your hands, colonel.” 

“ It will be for but a brief space, as the 
camp of Morgan is only three miles back. 
There are some American women in it who 
will take care of her.” 

“ But I wish to remind you of one thing, 
colonel.” 


As Seen in a Dream 


255 


What is that? 

“ A lady cannot be shot or hanged as a 
spy, even though she be a spy.” 

He laughed the hearty laugh that I like 
to hear from a man. 

‘‘ Have no fear,” he said. “We are Amer- 
icans.” 

Then he laughed again that deep, reso- 
nant laugh which I like. 

“ I shall send two men back with you and 
the prisoner, but I am on a scout to find 
Tarleton and ascertain when he is likely to 
attack us.” 

“ Do we mean to make a stand? ” I asked. 

For the third time he laughed. 

“ Why, boy,” he said, “ you don’t expect 
Morgan, who, with Arnold, was the hero of 
Saratoga, to run away, do you? He only 
wanted a little time to drill his men and get 
his grip on them, and now he’s ready to wel- 
come Tarleton to the fray.” 

“ Then you will have Tarleton by morn- 
ing,” I said, and I explained all that I had 
heard or learned otherwise in my flight with 
the prisoner, to which he listened with an in- 


256 My Captive 

terest that indicated its importance and made 
me feel mine. 

‘‘Good! Good, Marcel!” he exclaimed 
more than once. “ This is precisely what we 
wanted to know. And so Mr. Tarleton is hot 
on our heels and likely to attack in the morn- 
ing? Well, Philip Marcel, I think you shall 
see to-morrow as pretty a little battle as was 
ever fought on this continent, and neither 
Colonel Tarleton nor I nor any other can tell 
yet what the result will be.” 

Julia was standing by me, and her old spirit 
suddenly flamed up. 

“ I can,” she said, “ and I only hope that 
instead of falling in the battle you will be 
taken a prisoner, for to-morrow night your 
army will not exist.” 

“ Miss Howard,” said Colonel Washing- 
ton, bowing — I had given her name — “ we 
have more admiration for the ladies than con- 
fidence in their military predictions.” 


CHAPTER XVI 
IN Morgan's camp 

Then we proceeded to the encampment, 
and Colonel Washington himself went with 
us, his plans being changed by my news. My 
head was buzzing with excitement. We were 
going to fight Tarleton at last, though with all 
the odds against us, numbers, discipline, and 
arms, while Tarleton himself had won his 
reputation as the ablest and most successful 
cavalry commander in the British service. 
We might again experience the disaster and 
disgrace of Camden, but Morgan was no 
Gates, and perhaps, on the other hand, we 
might equal the exploit of the wild borderers 
at King's Mountain, though it was a little too 
much to hope for that. Still we would fight, 
and to a young man it always seems better to 
fight than to run. 

‘‘ Old comrade," I said to my horse, ‘‘ we 
meet the enemy to-morrow! " 


257 


258 My Captive 

He nodded joyously and then looked 
gravely at the bandage around my head. 

It is nothing,” I said. “ I will take it 
off to-night. My head is well.” 

He nodded again, as if all his troubles were 
over. 

The wife of Captain Dunn, of the South 
Carolina militia, was in the camp, a lady 
whom I knew, my distant kinswoman, and 
Julia was given into her charge. 

‘‘ Take good care of her. Cousin Anna,” 
I said. Remember that she is my prisoner.” 

“ Your prisoner, is she? ” she replied enig- 
matically. “ But remember, Philip, that the 
captor often becomes the captive.” 

‘‘ Cousin Anna,” I said indignantly, ‘‘ I 
hope you are not going to preach our defeat 
by Tarleton on the very eve of battle. It will 
have a discouraging effect.” 

“ I said nothing about the battle. Go and 
attend to your work, Philip. I will take care 
of the girl.” 

To Julia I said: ‘^We fight to-morrow, 
and I may not see you again.” 

Then I bent down and kissed her lips. 


In Morgan's Camp 259 

She replied very simply and earnestly: 

May you live through it, Philip! ” 

Cousin Anna's back was to us, and she did 
not see or hear. 

I turned away and began to examine the 
camp and this field, destined to be the scene 
of a memorable battle, which was itself the 
opening of one of the greatest, most skilful, 
and most successful campaigns ever con- 
ducted on the soil of our continent. 

We were on a long slope, consisting of 
several hills rising above each other like the 
seats of an amphitheatre, though at a much 
greater elevation, as the slope was so slight 
that it offered no impediment to the gallop of 
a horse. The men were gathering up fence- 
rails, which they were using for the camp- 
fires, and I noticed many old tracks of the 
feet of animals. To my question one of the 
soldiers said: ‘‘We are going to fight where 
the cows pasture. Don't you know that this 
army is camped on the cow-pens of a very 
worthy man named Hannah? And these 
rails are the last that are left of his pens." 

Behind us flowed the wide, deep, and un- 


26o My Captive 

fordable Broad River, retreat thus being cut 
off in case of defeat. I asked the meaning of 
this strange military manoeuvre, which meant 
either victory or destruction, and again the 
explanation was ready: 

“More than half of our men are militia, 
and you can never tell whether militia will run 
like rabbits or fight like devils. All early 
signs fail, and General Morgan says it's 
cheaper to have the river behind us and make 
'em fight than to station regulars in the rear 
to shoot down the cowards." 

Presently I saw General Morgan himself 
passing among the men and preparing for the 
expected attack in the morning. This was 
one of our real heroes, a fighter and leader 
and no politician, a man whom the great 
Washington esteemed and loved to reward. 
I had seen him at Saratoga and elsewhere, 
and his figure as well as his name always drew 
attention. Over six feet high and built in 
proportion, with a weight of two hundred 
pounds, and a large, fine, open face, he was a 
type of the true American, the best of all men 
in mind and body. 


In Morgan’s Camp 261 

There was plenty of provender in the 
camp, and I gave Old Put a solid meal. I 
wanted him to be in good trim for the mor- 
row, as he and I were to take our proper place 
with Washington's cavalry, to which we be- 
longed, only a handful of men, but able and 
true and capable of doing great things in the 
nick of time. 

There had been some question about the 
bandage on my head, which I wore as a pre- 
caution against taking cold in the scalp- 
wound, but I showed that it was only a trifle, 
and Colonel Washington rightfully remarked 
that such a slight hurt would only increase a 
man's efficiency on the battle-field. Then he 
told me to lie down on the ground and go to 
sleep; but I could not sleep just then, and 
with the freedom of our colonial armies I 
roamed about the encampment. 

The camp-fires flared up in the cold Janu- 
ary darkness. The men sat around them, 
talking and playing with old greasy cards or 
singing the songs of the hills and the woods. 
Some of the soldiers were asleep on their 
blankets or the bare ground, for we were 


262 My Captive 

always a ragged and unhoused army at the 
best, and only a few of the officers had tents. 

A sharp breeze came across the river, and 
the flames bent to it, their light flickering 
over wild, brown faces that knew only the 
open air, wind, rain, hail, or whatever came. 
Most of the soldiers still carried curved and 
carved powder-horns and bullet-pouches, in- 
separable companions, over their shoulders, 
and long, slender-barrelled rifles, so unlike 
the British muskets, lay at their sides. 

Smoke rose from the fires and blew in the 
faces of the men, deepening the brown and 
giving them another shade of the Indian. A 
curse mingled now and then with the singing 
and the talk of the card-players, and from the 
borders of the camp came the stamp of the 
horses and an occasional neigh. In the dark- 
ness, half-lighted by the reeling fires, the 
camp became a camp of wild men, whose faces 
the wavering light moulded into whatever 
grotesque images it chose. 

We were but a little army, only nine hun- 
dred strong, but many of us had come great 
distances and from places wide apart. An arc 


In Morgan’s Camp 263 

of a thousand miles would scarce cover all our 
homes. There were the militia, South Caro- 
linians and Georgians, raw troops, whom one 
can never trust; then the little remnant of the 
brigade that De Kalb had led on the fatal day 
of Camden, splendid soldiers whose line the 
whole British army could not break, the sur- 
vivors now eager to avenge the disgrace their 
brethren suffered on that day; then the stanch 
Virginia troops, that we knew would never 
fail, and near them our two or three score 
of cavalrymen under Washington — a little 
army, I say again, but led by such leaders as 
Morgan, Washington, Howard, and Pickens! 

Down the slopes the sentinels were on 
watch, but there was no fear of a surprise, for 
the scouts were just bringing in word that 
Tarleton could not come before daylight, and 
then, owing to the slope and the open ground, 
his approach would be seen for a great dis- 
tance. 

The new men talked the most, some about 
the coming battle, eagerly, volubly, others 
about things the farthest from it, but in the 
same eager, voluble, unreal tone. The vet- 


264 My Captive 

erans were silent mostly, and already with the 
calm and hardihood of long usage were seek- 
ing the rest and sleep which they knew they 
would need. 

A tall, thin man, with a wild face, whom I 
took to be one of the preachers at the great 
revival meetings so common on the border, 
rose in the midst of the camp and began to 
speak. Some listened, and some went on 
with the talking and card-playing. I could 
hear the rustle of the pasteboard as the cards 
were shuffled. He was a fighting preacher, 
for he exhorted them to strike with all their 
strength in the coming battle, and if they 
must die, to die like Christian heroes. He 
prayed to God for the success of our arms, 
then stepped from the stump on which he 
stood and disappeared from my sight. He 
fought in the front line of the South Carolina 
militia the next day. 

I sought my own place in our troop and 
lay down upon one half of my blanket, with 
the other half above me. Old Put gnawed at 
some fodder by my side. 

Wake me up in the morning when you 


In Morgan’s Camp 265 

see the first red gleam of the British coats, old 
comrade,” I said, and, knowing that he would 
do it, I closed my eyes. 

But sleep would not come jUst yet, and 
I opened my eyes again to see that the fires 
were dying and the darkness was sinking 
down nearer to the earth. Half the army were 
asleep already; the others were quiet, seeking 
slumber, and the steady breathing of nearly 
a thousand men in a close space made a 
strange, whistling noise like that of the wind. 
A flaring blaze would throw a streak of light 
across a sleeping soldier, showing only a head 
or a leg or an arm, as if the man had been 
disjointed. I would hear the faint rattle of a 
sentry’s fire-lock and the heavy hoof of a 
horse as he crowded his comrades for room. 
An officer in dingy uniform would stalk across 
the field to see that everything was right, and 
over us all the wind moaned and the darkness 
gathered close up to the edge of the dying 
fires. Weakness overpowered my excited 
brain and nerves, and I slept. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE BATTLE 

I WAS awakened in the morning by the 
shoving of Old Put’s cold nose, which said as 
plain as speech, ‘‘ Rise, my master, and pre- 
pare for the enemy.” Most of the other men 
were up, and the camp cooks had breakfast 
ready — bread, meat, and coffee. I threw 
off my blanket and began to eat with the 
others. 

It was the misty region between night and 
day. The scouts told us that the British 
would soon be at hand, and by the time the 
breakfast had been despatched the rim of the 
sun appeared in the east, and the day was 
coming. Then the general formed the line 
of battle, and each of us took his appointed 
place. 

On the first rise of the slope stood the 
South Carolina and Georgia militia, the raw 
troops, in a line about a sixth of a mile long, 
266 


The Battle 


267 


under the command of the iron-nerved Pick- 
ens. They were expected to give way before 
the charge of the enemy, but Pickens was or- 
dered to hold them in line until they could 
deliver at least two volleys with the precision 
in firing which all these farmer boys pos- 
sessed. Then they were to retire behind the 
veteran regulars under Howard, who were on 
the second slope, one hundred and fifty yards 
in their rear. An equal distance behind the 
second rise sat we cavalrymen on our horses, 
commanded to pull on our reins and wait the 
moment upon which the fate of the combat 
should turn. 

Thus stood our little army, expecting the 
rush of the battle which, as I have said, was 
to be one of the most important and decisive 
of our war. I stroked Old Put’s neck and 
bade him be cool, but he was as calm as I 
and needed no such encouragement. The 
man on my left. Bob Chester, a Pennsylva- 
nian, suddenly whispered: 

Don’t you hear that faint rumbling 
noise, Phil? That’s the hoof-beats of cav- 
alry.” 

18 


268 My Captive 

‘‘Silence there!” called the colonel. 

No one spoke again; but, bending my ear 
forward, I could hear the far drum of horses’ 
hoofs, and I knew that the English army was 
coming. Old Put raised his head and snuffed 
the air. A red gleam appeared upon the hori- 
zon and broadened rapidly. A thrill and a 
deep murmur ran the length and breadth of 
our army. 

“ Oh, if those militiamen will only stand 
until the general bids them retire!” groaned 
the colonel. 

That he believed they would not, I knew, 
since it is a hard thing for new men to stand 
the rush of a seasoned army, superior in num- 
bers and equipment. 

The sun was just swinging clear of the 
earth, and betokened a brilliant morning, yet 
it was cold with the raw damp that often 
creeps into a South Carolina winter, and I for 
one wished that the men could see a little 
more of the day, and loosen their muscles a 
little better before they fought. 

The whole British army now appeared in 
the plain — cavalry, infantry, and field-pieces 


The Battle 


269 


— in a great red square. I could plainly 
see the officers giving their orders, and I 
knew that the attack would come in a few 
minutes. 

Eleven hundred of them and no raw 
troops,’' said Colonel Washington. “ We 
know that exactly from our scouts. I think 
our cavalry will have something to do to- 
day.” 

One officer, in the gayest of uniforms, I 
took to be Tarleton, the British leader whom 
we hated most of all, for, with all his soldierly 
qualities, he was a cruel man, as most of his 
brother British officers themselves say. 

I wanted to see the faces of those farmer 
boys down there on the slope who were to 
receive the first and fiercest rush of the enemy 
and to check it. I knew that many of them 
were white to the eyes, but their backs were 
towards me, and I could not see. 

They don’t appear to move,” whispered 
Chester. Their line looks as firm as if it 
were made of iron.” 

Like untempered iron, I guess,” I re- 
plied — “ break like glass at the first shot.” 


270 My Captive 

A bugle sounded in the front of the Brit- 
ish squares, and its notes, loud and mellow, 
came to us, but from our ranks rose only the 
heavy breathing and the shuffling of men and 
horses. 

The trumpet-call was followed by a cheer 
from more than a thousand throats, and then 
the British rushed upon us. The brass field- 
pieces on their flanks opened with the thunder 
that betokens the artillery, and mingled with 
the roar were the rattle of small arms, the 
throb of drums, and the clamorous hoof-beats 
of their numerous cavalry. 

The face of their red line blazed with fire, 
their red uniforms glowing through it like a 
bloody gleam, while the polished bayonets 
shone in front. 

“ They are firing too soon and coming too 
fast,” said Colonel Washington. “By God! 
look at those militiamen! They are standing 
like the Massachusetts farmers at Bunker 
Hill!” 

It was so. The raw line of plough-boys 
never wavered. It bent nowhere, and was 
still as straight and strong as an iron bar. The 


The Battle 


271 


plough-boys knelt down, and, as the British 
cheer rose and the red line flaming in front 
swept nearer, up went the long-barrelled bor- 
der rifles. I fancied that I could hear Pick- 
ens's command to fire, though I did not, and 
then all the rifles in a line a sixth of a mile 
long were fired so close together that the dis- 
charge was like the explosion of the greatest 
cannon in all the world. 

The smoke rose in a thick black cloud, 
which a moment later floated a dozen feet 
above the earth and revealed the British 
squares shattered and stopped, the ground in 
front of them red with the fallen, the officers 
shouting and reforming their lines, while our 
own plough-lads, still as firm as the hills, were 
reloading their rifles with swift and steady 
hands. 

We cavalrymen raised a great shout of ap- 
proval, which the regulars on the rise in front 
of us took up and repeated. A second volley 
was all that we had asked from the militia- 
men, and it was sure now. Even as our cheer 
was echoing it was delivered with all the cool- 
ness and deadly precision of the first. Again 


272 My Captive 

the British squares reeled and stopped, but 
they were veterans, led by the fiery Tarleton, 
and they came on a third time, only to meet 
the third of those deadly volleys, which swept 
down their front lines and blocked the way 
with their own dead and dying. 

'^The battle is won already,” shouted 
Colonel Washington, “ and it's the farmer 
boys of South Carolina and Georgia who have 
won it ! ” 

Never did veteran troops show more gal- 
lantry and tenacity than those same farmer 
boys on that day. Two volleys were all that 
were asked of them, yet not merely once or 
twice, but many times, they poured in their 
deadly fire at close range, again and again 
hurling back the British veterans, who 
doubled them in number and were supported 
by artillery and many cavalry, while we old 
soldiers in the two lines behind stood silent, 
not a gun or a sabre raised, and watched their 
valour. 

They retired at last, not broken, but in 
perfect order, and at the command of Pickens, 
that we who stood behind them might have 


The Battle 273 

the chance to do our part of the day's 
work. 

The smoke hung low in clouds and half 
hid both armies, British and American. A 
brilliant sun above pierced through it in places 
and gleamed on clumps of men, some fallen, 
some still fighting. Shrieks and groans strove 
for a place with the curses and shouts. 

Again rose the British cheer from the 
throats of all those who stood, for, the militia- 
men retiring before them, they thought it was 
a battle won, and they charged with fresh 
courage and vigour, pouring forward in a red 
avalanche. But the regulars, the steady old 
Continentals, who now confronted them, re- 
ceived them with another volley, and more in- 
fantrymen fell down in the withered grass, 
more riderless horses galloped away. 

The battle rolled a step nearer to us, but 
we cavalrymen, who formed the third line, 
were still silent and sat with tight reins, while 
directly in our front rose a huge bank of flame 
and smoke in which friend and enemy strug- 
gled and fought. Even Old Put, with his 
iron nerves, fretted and pulled on the reins. 


274 My Captive 

The long line of the British overlapped the 
Continentals, whom they outnumbered three 
to one, and the general, whose gigantic fig- 
ure I could see through the haze of smoke, 
ordered them to retreat lest they should be 
flanked. 

Again the British cheer boomed out when 
they saw the regulars giving ground, for now 
they were sure that victory was theirs, though 
more hardly won than they had thought. But 
the retreat of the regulars was only a feint, 
and to give time for the militiamen behind 
them to come again into action. General 
Morgan galloped towards us, waving his 
sword to Washington, and every one of us 
knew that our moment had come. 

‘‘Forward!’’ was the single command of 
our leader, and reins and sabres swung free 
as we swept in a semicircle around the line 
of our friends and then at the enemy. At the 
same moment the regulars, ceasing to yield, 
charged the astonished foe and poured in a 
volley at close range, while the militiamen 
threw themselves in a solid mass upon the 
British flank. 


The Battle 


27$ 


We of the cavalry were but eighty, with 
fifty more mounted volunteers behind us un- 
der Major McCall, but we were a compact 
body of strong horses and strong horsemen, 
with shortened rifles and flashing sabres, and 
we were driven straight at the heart of the 
enemy like the cold edge of a chisel. 

We slashed into the British, already reel- 
ing from the shock of the Continentals and 
the militiamen, and they crumpled up before 
us like dry paper before a fire. Our rifles were 
emptied, and the sabres were doing the silent 
but more deadly work. Amid all the wild 
din of the shouting and the musketry and the 
blur of the smoke and the flame 1 knew little 
that I was doing except hack, hack, and I was 
glad of it. I could hear steel gritting on bone, 
and the smell of leather and smoke and blood 
arose, but the smoke was still in my eyes, and 
I could only see enough to strike and keep on 
striking. 

We horsemen, one hundred and thirty 
strong, were still a solid, compact body, a 
long gleaming line like a sword-blade thrust 
through the marrow of the enemy. We cut 


276 My Captive 

our way directly to the heart of the English 
army, and their broken squares were fall- 
ing asunder as our line of steel lashed and 
tore. The red army reeled about over the 
slope like a man who has lost power over his 
limbs. 

I struck at a trooper on my left, but he dis- 
appeared, and a second trooper on my right 
raised his sabre to cut me down. I had no 
time to fend off the blow, and in one swift in- 
stant I expected to take my place with the 
fallen, but a long, muscular brown neck shot 
out, two rows of powerful white teeth inclosed 
the man’s sword-arm, and he screamed aloud 
in pain and fright. 

“ Do you surrender? ” I cried. 

“ Yes, for God’s sake, take him off! ” he 
shouted. “ I can fight a man, but not a man 
and a wild devil of a horse at the same time! ” 

“ Let him go,” I said to Old Put, and the 
horse unclasping his teeth the man gave up 
his sword. 

The smoke was clearing away somewhat, 
and the fire of the rifles declined from a 
steady crackle to jets and spurts. A dozen 


The Battle 


277 

of the militiamen seized one of the brass 
field-pieces of the British, and Howard’s 
Continentals already held the other. Every- 
where cries of I surrender! I surrender! 
Quarter! quarter! ” arose from the British 
horse and foot, who were throwing down their 
arms to receive from us that quarter which 
we willingly gave, but which Tarleton had so 
often denied to our men. 

I could scarce believe what I saw. The 
whole British army seemed to be killed, 
wounded, or taken. The muskets and bayo- 
nets, the swords and pistols, rattled as they 
threw them upon the ground. Whole com- 
panies surrendered bodily. An officer, his 
gay uniform splashed with mud and blood, 
dashed past me, lashing his horse at every 
jump. It was Tarleton himself, and behind 
him came Washington, pursuing with all his 
vigour and lunging at the fleeing English 
leader with a bayonet fastened at a rifle’s end. 
He returned after a while without Tarleton, 
but there was blood on his bayonet. Tarle- 
ton, though wounded in the shoulder, escaped 
through the superior speed of his horse, to be 


278 My Captive 

taken with Cornwallis and the others at York- 
town. 

The general raised his sword and cried to 
us to stop firing and striking, for the field 
was won and the battle over, and he spoke 
truly. Far away showed the red backs of 
some of the English fleeing at the full speed 
of their horses, but they were only a few, and 
almost their entire army lay upon the field, 
dead and wounded, or stood there our pris- 
oners. 

The defeat that so many of us feared had 
proved to be the most brilliant little victory in 
our history, a masterpiece of tactics and val- 
our, the decisive beginning of the great cam- 
paign which won us back the Southern col- 
onies, one of the costliest of all her battles to 
England. I have told you how it was, just as 
the histories, both English and American, tell 
it to you. All honour and glory to the gallant 
plough-boys of South Carolina and Georgia, 
who received the first shock of the British 
army and broke it so bravely ! Of the eleven 
hundred British veterans who attacked us 
only two hundred escaped from the field, and 


The Battle 


279 


we took all their cannon, baggage, ammuni- 
tion, and small arms, even of those who es- 
caped, for they threw them away in their 
flight. The killed, wounded, and taken just 
equalled the numbers of our entire army, and 
we had only twelve men dead. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

LOOKING AHEAD 

I RETURNED towards the Broad River, 
where, under the lee of a little hill, a tent held 
six or seven friendly women. Julia came out, 
her face still pale, for she had heard all the 
crash and tumult of the battle. 

It is over, Julia,” I said — I had hid my 
bloody sword — ‘‘and the British army no 
longer exists.” 

“And the victory is yours! Yesterday I 
thought it impossible.” 

“ Your countrymen make the same mis- 
take over and over again, but they pay the 
price and they don't complain.” 

We walked towards the field, and we met 
some men bringing in a gray-haired prisoner, 
a tall, fine-looking officer. Julia, crying aloud 
in her joy, ran forward and embraced him. 
He returned the embrace again and again 
with the greatest tenderness. 

280 


Looking Ahead 281 

‘‘ Father/’ said Julia, ‘‘ we are now pris- 
oners together.” 

I watched them for a few minutes, and 
then I stepped forward and said: 

Good-morning, Major Howard.” 

He stared at me in the icy way of the Eng- 
lishman who has been addressed by a stranger. 

‘‘ I do not know you, sir,” he said. 

‘‘ My name is Philip Marcel, and I am 
your future son-in-law.” 

He was now unable to speak. 

It is true, sir,” I said. ‘‘ Ask your 
daughter.” 

He looked at her. She smiled and red- 
dened. But the light in her eyes was divine. 

Old Put was standing by, and he nodded 
his head in approval. He had liked her from 
the first. 

Your daughter is to be my wife,” I con- 
tinued with emphasis, “ and you are to live 
with us and like us.” 

These were resounding boasts for a young 
soldier to make, but they all came true after 
Yorktown. 


THE END 


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